


Broken

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Anonymous Sex, Doubt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Healing, M/M, POV First Person, Secrets, Sex Club, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan accidentally stumbles across a side to his new colleague that, despite knowing that it's nothing to do with him, he simply can't leave well enough alone.  Just how far, however, is he prepared to go to get to the bottom of just whatever it is Will so obviously thinks he needs?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Self beta'd. Narrated by Ethan.
> 
> ~ In some ways a little different -- darker, blunter, more sexual -- than my usual fics, yet also... same old, same old. There's damage, there's healing, and this time there's the added bonus of sex.
> 
> ~ Starts immediately after the final scene of Ghost Protocol
> 
> ~ As always, enjoy, and many thanks to those who have left kudos on my other fics... (And, hey, I'm still open to suggestions if anyone ever has any they'd like to offer!)

=========

Broken

by TalithaX

=========

 

 

No more clear on just what it is I want to do with myself for the rest of the evening than I was half an hour ago when, on a whim, I walked into the bar – chosen solely because I liked the look of it and it didn't seem to be overflowing with the self-consciously hip – and ordered myself a scotch, I swirl the last of the amber fluid around in my glass and bite back a sigh.

Do I...

... Order myself another drink and simply remain where I'm sitting because A) it saves the dilemma of having to make an actual choice and, B) given that I've got a prime position by the window I can continue to while away the time in the perfectly pointless -- yet strangely addictive and entertaining -- pursuit of people watching?

... Break a habit of a lifetime and reluctantly accept defeat in that, well, despite trying, I really can't think of a reason not to just give up and lock myself away in my hotel room until it's time to make my way to the airport in the morning?

... Sugar coat my retreat to the hotel room in terms of wanting to – again, break the habit of a lifetime – do the eager beaver thing of reading up on the Syndicate and the missing drone technology instead of just putting it off and leaving myself something to do during tomorrow's flight?

... Finish my drink and take myself off to further investigate Seattle's night life?  And, if I do that, what's my ultimate goal? A few more drinks here and there for no other reason than I can and am just desperate to stay out of my hotel room for as long as possible?  Or...  Would I like to find myself some friendly... company... to perhaps scratch the itch I'm not yet fully ready to own up to wanting scratched?

Just...

Decisions, decisions.

Seriously.  It shouldn't be this hard.  The facts, when everything is stripped back to the bare basics, are incredibly simple.  I'm here in Seattle because not only did I want to see Luther before he jetted off on his next mission, but I also wanted to prove – a moving image being worth a thousand words and all that – to Brandt that my now very much ex-wife, Julia, was still alive and well and not, as he thought, dead and buried after having been chopped in to tiny pieces in Croatia.  That's all.  Seattle simply killed, as the saying goes, two birds with one stone for me and now that I've achieved what I set out to it's nothing more than a location to waste time in until I meet my newly formed team at the airport tomorrow and we embark on our first – official, and non-disavowed – mission together.  I don't, in other words, particularly want to still be here and what I'd actually like more than anything else is to be already en route to the military base that was incompetent enough to lose the drone technology in the first place.  After having eight weeks of – sitting on my ass and staring at walls – enforced inactivity while waiting for both my leg to heal and the much longed for 'approved for active duty' seal of approval from the doctor, I'm even more raring to go than I usually am and can't wait to be back in the thick of things again.

So...

Seattle.  Been there, done that, champing at the bit to be gone.

I'm also too wired by the thought of being so close to finally being back in the field again to just want to go back to my hotel room and lock myself away for the night because, simply put, it really doesn't appeal to me in the slightest.  Not being tired, I have no need to go to bed and the thought of returning to the drab little room before I absolutely have to just leaves me cold.

So, going back to the hotel being out, that leaves me with either staying put here and continuing to watch the parade of people as they pass by the huge plate glass window in front of me, or moving on.  And, if I choose to move on, can I actually be bothered with going to the effort of trying to pick up?  It's not, of course, as though the idea of losing myself in a spot of mindless, meaningless pleasure isn't without its own certain appeal.  It would, after all, be one of the better ways to waste time until the morning.  That, and, let's face it, it would also be a good way to expend some of the restless, impatient energy I can currently feel coursing through me.  But...  I don't know.  On one hand the positives are considerable, and on the other there's the small fact of life that I'm not even entirely sure it's what I really want.  One night stands are all well and good, and God knows I've been a fan of them for quite a long time, but...  Again.  I really just don't know if it's what I want.

Maybe it's seeing Julia again and being reminded of what I once – momentarily – had. Love. Contentment.  Comfort.  A sense of pleasure in knowing what the other liked that, in its own, completely different way, was as great as the experience of lovemaking itself.  Not to mention actually both... knowing... and genuinely caring about the person you were touching.  Sex as a means to an end is one – admittedly quite good – thing, but sex with someone you have feelings for and want to make feel as turned on as they're making you feel, that's... something else again because there's a connection there that's just missing from simply sharing an orgasm with a stranger.

While it might sound harsh, if not a little hypocritical, I don't miss Julia and it's both a weight off my mind and a relief to me that she's now safe from the ever-present threat that comes hand in hand with simply being a part of my world and once again has her own safe and secure life.  Yes, she was my wife, and, yes, I still feel a degree of love for her. Now though the love is far more brotherly – as in I still feel compelled to protect her and will always come to her aid if she needs assistance – than it is anything else and, although I look back on the time we spent together with, for the most part anyway, fondness, I'm not sorry that it ended.  At the time I was because not only had I failed to keep our relationship alive but I'd also been misguided enough to think I actually had it in me to make a go of it in the first place, but...  Hindsight having worked its usual magic, I now know that going our separate ways was in both of our best interests and, the unfortunate flow on of Brandt's perceived guilt notwithstanding, we made the right decision to – admit defeat – pull the plug when we did.

All this said, although I don't miss Julia herself and have used the time since our divorce was finalised to accept that my true sexual preferences do actually lie with those who share the same dominant chromosome as I do, what I do actually have to confess to missing is just having someone to both talk to and simply hang out with.  If you like, what I miss is the... companionship that came part and parcel of being in a relationship.

And I think, if I wanted to be truly honest with myself, what I'm far more in the mood for tonight is simple companionship, and the fact that I quite literally had it on tap in the form of briefly having my team with me on the pier before they all took themselves off and disappeared is just pissing me off and adding to my indecisiveness.  If I'd had any brains I would have gone after them instead of just listening to the recording of our next mission and wandering around aimlessly for the extreme wont of anything else to do.  But, no...  I'm here, by myself, in this bar while they're, with the exception of Luther who I know was heading straight to the airport to catch a flight, both God alone knows where and, with any luck, deriving more fun out of their evening than I am.  I could, and I already know they're all still in Seattle because the texts that came back in response to my message about where best to meet up tomorrow all confirmed that meeting at Sea-Tac and flying out together would be the way to go, call them up and, hopefully without sounding too needy, ask if any of them would like to hang out with me for a bit, but for some not overly clear reason something stops me from reaching for my phone and doing just that.

It's not that I'm afraid of being knocked back.  I mean, even if they all declared they wanted nothing to do with me outside of work, then, hey, I'm a big boy and would be able to find a way to cope without too much difficulty.  Not, however, it just has to be said that I think that would really be the case at all.  Benji, even if he'd just put his pyjamas on and climbed in to bed, would agree to meet up with me without a second's hesitation because that's just the way he is. Eager to please and, despite being something of a computer geek with a not always healthy attachment to technology, always happier when he's surrounded by friends and has someone to talk – or, more to the usual point, babble – to.  Jane, while I'm not as confident about her response being as immediate and... gung-ho... as I expect Benji's would be, I still think she'd come out for a drink without too much hesitation if I asked her.  It mightn't be her preferred option, and she might pretend that she's only doing it because I'm the team leader and she feels as though she's expected to obey my every request, but in the end I think she'd agree simply for reasons of curiosity.  Curiosity as in... 'as it appears I'm going to be stuck working with you, let's find out what you're like in down time and whether you do actually know how to have fun or not'.

So, yeah...  Benji and Jane, regardless of their differences in reasons – eagerness versus curiosity – for accepting, I know would meet up with me if I gave in to temptation and called them up.

Then there's Brandt.

Out of the three members of my team he's both the one I'd like to get to know better, and the one most likely to knock me back.  Or, failing that and he reluctantly accepted solely out of a sense of duty or obligation, he'd murmur small talk and smile at me politely, and... I wouldn't learn a damn thing about him.

William Brandt.  I like to think that I've done the right thing in getting – my way – him on the team, but, deep down and given that there's such a huge fucking question mark hanging over his head, I really just don't know if I've made the correct call or not.  Or, while I'm at it, whether I've even made it for the right reason.

Courtesy of the one fuck up after another that was Cobalt and his nutty-as-a-fruitcake attempt at a new world order born from a nuclear strike, the one thing I know for certain about Brandt is that he's an exceptionally good agent.  Faultless physical skills, good at taking orders yet not afraid to speak up if he has his doubts about the direction the mission is going in, a walking, talking encyclopaedia on just about everyone who has ever come to the attention of the IMF, and... so close to being completely devoid of personality that he'd be hard pushed to offend anyone and as such is just a pleasure to be around. He doesn't give the impression of being able to talk under water like Benji does and, while, okay, it's hard to form a concrete opinion courtesy of only one extremely high pressure mission alone, nor does he seem the sort to hold grudges or want to go off on revenge-fuelled tangents.  He just... accepts the ultimate goal of the bigger picture, does as his told to the best of his highly skilled ability, and... that's about it, really.

On the strength of what I saw in Dubai and Mumbai alone, I both liked what I saw of Brandt and knew that I wanted to work with him again.  Good at what he did, and... inoffensive.  That, and he got on well with Jane and Benji, both of whom, having liked what I saw of them during the mission as well, I also wanted to continue working with.  It was like, pretty much as far as I was concerned anyway, the perfect combination. Granted, there was something secretive about him but, everyone being allowed their foibles so long as they never impacted on a mission, I was prepared to overlook it because everything else about him seemed so promising.

Then, while I was stuck – twiddling my thumbs – convalescing, I pulled his file and, reading it from the beginning, thought I was simply going to have my already formed opinions confirmed.  Never put a foot wrong.  Glowing references from every team leader he'd ever worked under.  Well on his way to commanding a team of his own.  When it finally happened though and he was put in charge of his own team, things, well they went to shit.  It didn't happen immediately, but... it definitely happened and he's still picking up the pieces to this very day.  He shouldn't be, which I know is damn easy for me to say, but he is and that's just all there is to it.  After successfully leading his team through two difficult missions, he then made what  well may have been the first major mistake of his otherwise stellar career and accepted the... 'walk in the park'... assignment of Croatia.

Having personally planned it to perfection, it was meant to be simple.  The team – and I'd made a point of not knowing who it consisted of – was just meant to observe and confirm Julia's unfortunate 'death' at the hands of the Serbian hit squad and, really, that was all they had to do. No one was ever meant to take her 'murder' personally, and they certainly weren't meant to feel as though they'd failed so spectacularly and cost an innocent women her life.

Yet that's exactly what Brandt did.

Instead of subscribing to either the 'oh well, that's life' or 'shit happens' school of thought and brushing himself off before focussing on the next mission and forgetting about it, he... blamed himself for her death and, unable to bear the thought of remaining in the field for fear of his... incompetence... in costing someone else their life, he just... shut down.  In fact, he shut himself so far down that if not for the Secretary himself intervening and convincing him to take on the predominately desk-bound role of Chief Analyst, he would have turned his back on the IMF and resigned.

Now, I can't really say that I understand his – over the top, in my mind – reaction myself.  Fine, having someone die on your watch, someone that you were charged with the task of protecting, isn't exactly a great thing to have happen.  In fact, it's a right kick in the teeth and not a nice thing to have happen at all.  And, okay, you may even both doubt and blame yourself a little.  What you don't do, however, is have a complete melt down and throw in the towel.  That's... just not on. Sure, you might drink yourself into a stupor and go slightly off the rails in your pursuit of making someone pay for what you feel is the error of your own ways, but that's about it.  Speaking from experience, I've been there myself and, regardless of how bad I've felt for the first few days afterwards, I've never wanted to call it quits and have always just hardened my resolve and soldiered on.

Brandt having lost it the way he did though, it can't help but raise a flag of doubt in my mind over his mental toughness and – when the going gets tough, the tough get going – ability to see things through.  What happened in Croatia shouldn't have had the effect on him that it did, but, and there's no two ways of looking at it, it did.  He blamed himself and, instead of toughing it out, retreated into himself.

Reading his file... threw something of a spanner in the works in regards to my, until then, adamant desire to have him on my team.  Excellent agent and full of positives, but... with an apparent character flaw that I couldn't quite get my head around.

What I could, however, get my head around with alarming ease was that, in a round about sort of way, what happened to him was sort of my fault and that it was probably up to me to somehow make it up to him.  Everything that took place in Croatia was down to me and while I mightn't have had any involvement in Brandt landing the assignment I was still indirectly the cause of him being there in the first place.  If he hadn't been there his confidence never would have taken such a beating and he would have remained in the field.  Although I find it easy to both accept that what's done is done and that blaming myself isn't going to achieve anything, I still feel as though I owe it to Brandt to, I don't know, get him on the right track again or something.  An agent with his skills belongs in the field and I can't shake the feeling that I've taken on the responsibility of ensuring that this actually happens.

The specifics of this sense of... responsibility... just happen to a be a little on the vague side, though. Do I... want him to work under me simply because, turning a blind eye to what happened after Croatia here, I like what I saw during the Cobalt mission and hope that he'll prove to be a vital part of the team.  Or... am I indulging in some sort of... capture, rehabilitate, release... program in that I want to absolve my part in fucking up his life by proving to him that he's more than capable of being in the field again before washing my hands of him and forcing him back into the role of leader of his own team?

I just don't know.

I really don't.

My opinion of his skills and... suitability... to work with Jane, Benji, and myself, still stand, but... Having lost it once, what's to say he won't break down again?  I can try to do what I can to get it through to him that he's a good agent and truly belongs out in the field, but what if it's not enough? I don't understand what drove him to react the way he did in the first place, so should I even be bothering to – atone – try to help him now?  It's not, after all, as though he seems either desirous of, or thankful for my... determined interfering in his life.

In fact, it could probably be said that, despite reluctantly accepting my offer to join the team, he couldn't get away from me quick enough on the pier. That, and his reaction to – having the rug pulled out from under his feet – learning the truth about Croatia and Julia was a little on the... lacklustre side of things.  Me personally, I'd have complained long and hard at having been so badly – fucked over – played, before probably drifting through a petulant, sulky stage that I would have topped off by demanding not only to know absolutely everything there was to know but also an apology or two for the hideous impact it had had on my life.  Brandt though, he seemed to simply take it in his stride.  His entire life had changed after Croatia, yet instead of reacting with either anger or disappointment at learning the truth, he didn't really... react at all.

Which, I've just got to say, I find rather strange.

It was almost as though he couldn't allow himself to give anything away and that simply getting up and leaving was his way of remaining in control.  Who knows, maybe if he'd stayed he would have truly let me have it. Alternatively, maybe he just felt as though he had to go off in search of another, more private way of venting his frustrations instead of launching into a tirade at his new boss.

Not, I suspect, that I'll ever know one way or another.

Again, I just don't really understand Brandt very well at all and can only hope that I haven't made a mistake in having him on my team.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I swallow the last of my scotch just as I spot what looks to be a familiar looking figure walking past the window.  Unsure as to whether it really is Brandt or whether I just think it might be because – of wishful thinking – I've been spending so much time thinking about him, I throw some money down on to the table and, wanting to know if I'm seeing things that aren't there or not, make my way out of the bar and onto the bustling street.  The lighting being quite good in this part of town, it only takes me a few seconds to locate the dark clad man I'm thinking now, given the height, hair, black cargo pants and hooded jacket, has to be Brandt and I start to hurry after him as he turns down an alleyway and disappears from sight.  Not wanting him to get away – because if nothing else, if it is Brandt I'll put him on the spot by offering to buy him a drink and that in turn should effectively solve my still lingering dilemma of what to do with myself – I speed up my pace and walk into the alleyway.  To my decided surprise, by the time I've got there he's not only already disappeared, but it would also appear that the only place he could have... disappeared... into is a sordid looking gay club by the surely false advertising name of Utopia.

Sordid... because the entrance to the club is a wooden door sadly in need of a fresh coat of paint in any colour other than the less-than-subtle pink that's currently peeling off it.

Gay... because, well, even if the less-than-subtle pink door wasn't a dead give away, the two men standing by the dumpster next to said door and who are locked at the lips while they rub up against each other as though their lives depended on it... just confirm it.

False advertising... because, despite the – also pink – neon sign above the door reading Utopia, I really can't help but get the impression it's anything but.

But...

Whatever.

The nastiness of the club is, not exactly surprisingly, coming a very poor second to the shock I'm feeling at knowing that that's where Brandt, if it really is him, must have gone into. 

And, if it is him...

I...

Shit.

While I don't give a flying fuck if he's gay or has decidedly questionable taste in clubs, what I... do... care about is being able to add to what I already think I know about him.  Again, if this is what honestly floats his boat then that's far more his business than it is mine and I won't judge him on it. Besides, it's not as though I've never called on the services – drinks, a good time, hopefully a pick up – clubs like Utopia offer anyway.  It's just...

It's just that I never would have pictured Brandt, who strikes me as being somewhat straight laced, if not even just that little bit aloof and classy, lowering himself to the standards of a grotty looking gay bar.  Gay?  Fine. In fact, part of me may even have more of an interest in him than I did a minute ago.  Cruising a less-than-salubrious looking club though?  While I know it's got nothing to do with me, I still just can't see it.

I want to, though.

I want to see it.

I know that I shouldn't, that I should just turn around and leave Brandt to it, but I can't.  Not now that I think he's inside Utopia and the seed of curiosity has been planted.

What's he doing?  Is he just having a drink? Or is he looking for... company?  And, if he is on the prowl, what does he look for in a man?  Maybe, God forbid, because this I really can't see, he just likes to dance?

Or... Maybe I'm jumping the gun and falling prey to wild speculation as the man I'm thinking is Brandt isn't actually him at all and I well and truly need to get a fucking grip.

There being only one way to find out though, I dig in my pocket for some cash to pay the entry fee and, without really pausing to think about just what it is – even if it is Brandt, shouldn't he be allowed his privacy? – I'm doing, walk up to the horrible pink door and wrench it open. Handing my money to the bored looking attendant who I suspect was hired solely for his muscles and the way he fills out his tight white t-shirt as opposed to either his happy, smiling face or sparkling personality, I walk through the small, seen-better-decades foyer and through another pink door into the club proper. 

The club which, as I fully thought it would, both lives down to expectations and makes a mockery of the name Utopia.  Like the foyer, it looks simultaneously like down-on-its-luck gay bars the world over and as though it could do with one hell of a make over to drag it kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century  Loud dance music, that I neither recognise nor appreciate and which only serves to make me feel old, pumps from a wall of speakers by a rickety stage by the back wall where a DJ stands mixing his tunes while staring vacantly out at the small crowd of dancers on the dance floor directly in front of him.  A bar, with an eclectic – toned, not so toned, tattooed, pierced, hairy, smooth – array of barman rushing around and crashing into each other behind it as they scurry to serve their over-priced drinks to the sea of equally as eclectic men waving their money around and demanding service in front of it, takes up most of the wall to my right, while to the left a motley collection of tables and chairs line up around the dance floor.  The décor, when all is said and done, is neither here nor there and I can only put the popularity of the place down to one thing.

Sex.

Or the promise of it.

The clientele cover all age groups - from the high-as-a-kite twinks in their uniform of too tight jeans and designer t-shirts busting their moves on the dance floor to the grizzled looking leather 'bears' watching them from the tables and just about everything else in between.  Old men, young men, businessmen, fashionable men, 'don't-give-a-fuck-take-me-as-I-am' men.  Slim, large, long hair, short hair, no hair, tall, short, the embodiment of average, attractive, downright ugly...  You name it and they're here.

And at the risk of stereotyping every single one of them, the reason they're all here is in the hope of scoring.

It's why sad and sorry clubs like Utopia continue to exist.  They can't compete with the popular clubs with their hip décor, flashy DJs, theme nights and commitment to spamming social media at every given opportunity, so they don't even try and just content themselves with following the business model they've always followed.  Get 'em in, and leave 'em to it.  All they have to do is provide the location, the music, and the alcohol, and the men who – no pun intended – come do the rest. They offer a service to those who want to avail themselves to it and that really is all there is to it.  It's not for everyone, but those who come here get what they want and, as both a passer by and a casual observer, it's not my place to pass comment on it.

Shifting away from the door and the nothing-if-not-brave hand on my ass, I press my back against the wall and scan the club for Brandt.  Black cargo pants topped with either a black shirt or a black jacket seemingly being the outfit du jour for men of his colouring and height, I spot quite a few likely suspects who unfortunately don't live up to closer inspection and am just beginning to question whether it really was him I saw in the first place when out of the corner of my eye I notice a flushed looking man walking back into the club through a door half hidden by the bar.  Assuming that – Utopia really isn't imaginative at all and conforms to the 'why wait?' standards of similar clubs – what lies behind the door is for those who just happen to be a fan of instant gratification and who don't mind having an audience for that which is usually private, I push away from the wall and make my way over to it.  Never having really been in to the sort of exhibitionist behavior that goes on in areas like the one I'm about to head in to, I don't particularly want to, but... Having got this far, I feel as though I have to find out one way or another if Brandt is here or not and don't know what other choice I have.

Even if it is just in the name of reassuring myself that I've checked out every corner of Utopia before accepting that I was wrong in thinking that I saw him and calling it quits for the night by retreating to my room, I have to walk through the door and quickly survey what's going on behind it. I don't, I really don't, imagine that I'll find him there, but for the sake of knowing I've looked everywhere, I know that I just have to do it.

The door opening from the inside as I near it, I step back to allow a rough looking man with a love bite on his neck and an undone fly walk past before straightening my shoulders and walking into a surprisingly large, dimly lit room.  As the door thuds heavily shut the noise of the dance music is replaced by the telltale, hot and heavy sounds – laboured breathing, grunts of appreciation, encouraging murmurs of 'fuck yeah' – of sex and, as my eyes adapt to the gloom, I realise that there's about ten men in various states of undress and... bliss... in the room and that not one of them is paying me the slightest bit of attention.  I could just... watch, or unzip and jerk off, or put myself forward and place my hands on the first man I come to, and... I'd be accepted without question.

It's not a particularly nice feeling but, knowing that I'm not here to judge – or to give in to the basest needs of my libido – I glance around, quickly taking in the faces of each man in turn, and what I see in the darkest corner of the room actually takes my breath away and leaves me wishing that I'd never left the bar.

I shouldn't be seeing this.

I didn't need to see this.

Why...

… am I seeing this?

Kneeling on the dirty carpet.  Bare chested and with the hands of the fully clothed man leaning over his back roaming proprietary over his toned torso. Another man, this one with his jeans and briefs around his ankles, standing in front of him and gliding his cock in and out of his parted lips.  Eyes closed.  Expressionless.  Still.  So very still. If he's enjoying the twin sensations of a cock between his lips and hands on his flesh he's doing one hell of a job of not showing it. The same goes for there being no sign of an erection pushing at the fly of his cargo pants.

Brandt.

Lost in anonymous, public, and group sex.

Or...

Just lost?

~*~*~*~

In my line of work it pays to be able to read people.  It also, as you never know when your life might actually depend on it, pays to be right.  While by no means infallible, I pride myself on my ability to trust my gut feeling and over time I've come to rely on it to very rarely let me down.

Right now, however, I want to be proven wrong and for my highly tuned sixth sense to have absolutely let me down.

I don't, in this instance, want my suspicions confirmed, because...

It just doesn't make sense to me, that's why.

Granted, it's got nothing to do with me, and I know that regardless of whether I'm right or not that it's not going to either change or achieve anything, but...  It's as though I quite literally can't help myself. I'm not, despite no one holding a gun to my head and forcing me to do it, proud of my actions but, again, I just can't help myself.

I have to know.

I might not... want... to know, but I have to.

It's none of my business, and, honestly, to each their own and all that, but being immensely curious by nature and not one to leave well enough alone when it comes to not knowing the answer to something, I just have to see this through.  Even if I don't like what I discover and am left with even more questions than I've got answers, I can't – come to my senses and accept that, why, yes, everyone's entitled to privacy – turn back now and have to push on.

Again, I'm not proud of myself and wish it wasn't like this, but it is and, having started down this path, I'm going to follow it to the end.

Five weeks have passed since I walked in to the back room of that club in Seattle and saw Brandt on his knees with some guy's cock in his mouth.  Five weeks have also passed since, far more turned on by the sight than I had any right to be, I jerked off in my hotel room to both the memory and the wishful thought that, albeit in private, I'd been the one he'd been sucking.  And, while I'm at it, that's not something I'm particularly proud of either.  Whatever Brandt's issues are, he's not some form of object or sex toy and when I think back to that night I'm more appalled by my reaction to what I saw than I am by his apparent need to be used by strangers.  I just shouldn't have done it.  I shouldn't have taken the memory of him bare chested and kneeling on the floor and brought myself to climax on the strength of it.

Just as I shouldn't be following him now, not because I hope for a repeat performance but because I somehow feel it's my God given right to know whether he feels compelled to whore himself by way of some sort of coping mechanism.

Maybe I'm wrong, and, both liking the man and feeling that he's better than this, I want to be, but... The signs.  When you're as adept at reading between the lines as I am, the signs are fairly obvious that my suspicions are going to be proven correct.

His silence during dinner, and the way he kept looking at his watch to see if it was finally late enough for the clubs to be opening.  The way he wouldn't look any of us in the eye when he very quietly stated that he was going to go out for a while and would see us in the morning.  His refusal to accept our declarations that everything was okay and that he wasn't to think he was in any way to blame for what happened.

What's more, he wasn't, either.  That, and what actually happened was so... minor and, to most people, not worth a second thought.

One of the cartel members, a big brute of a man who'd have been lucky to have two I.Q. points to rub together, grabbed Jane by the wrist with another force to give it a nasty sprain.  That, literally, is all that happened. The mission was a success in that we retrieved the crate of experimental weapons the cartel had stolen and were trying to ship to the Middle East and, Jane's hardly life threatening sprain aside, we'd pulled it all off with both ease and without injury.

Brandt though, I swear, as he was the charged with securing the perimeter with Jane, is taking what happened to her personally.  It was... Just one of those things.  A minor injury caused by momentary inattentiveness – on Jane's part as much as Brandt's, which he'd be able to see for himself if he was able to stop blaming himself for a second and apply a little logic to the event – and that was it.  No one was killed or suffered a major injury and, at the end of the day, we achieved our goal of securing the weapons.  If not for Brandt's reaction I wouldn't, after confirming for myself that it really was just sprained, have thought anything much of Jane's wrist at all.  I mean, it's not as though she herself is all that bothered by it.  Mildly annoyed that she allowed it to happen, not to mention unimpressed with the brilliant white bandage Benji used to wrap it with and how it stands out, stark against the black of her clothing, but that I honestly suspect is about it.  Paracetamol dulls the pain, it'll be better in a couple of days and, yeah, whatever, life just goes on.

As injuries go, it was so minor as to not even be worth mentioning in the mission report and why Brandt is taking it as badly as he clearly is really is beyond me.  It was an accident.  Okay.  Fine.  So maybe he should have been paying closer attention to the oaf than he was.  Guess what though, so should have Jane.  He didn't do it intentionally.  It had no impact on the outcome of the mission.  By the end of the week it'll be as though it never even happened.  No one blames him or thinks less of him for it or, hey, while I'm at it, really thinks anything in regards to it at all.

It happened.

Shit happens.

Just not, however, or so it would seem, in Brandt's carefully constructed and scrupulously maintained little world.  To him, Jane's sprain is a disaster of apparently quite monumental proportions. Along with all but closing down and giving every indication of simply wanting to be... elsewhere, he apologised to Jane so repeatedly and so profusely that, in the end and having had enough of hearing him say that he was sorry, she had to both tell him to shut the fuck up and, to his obvious shock, wrap her arms around him for a quick hug.  To most people, absolution from the allegedly wronged party would be enough to make them think that, well, okay, maybe the sky wasn't falling in on them after all and that they could simply put the matter behind them and move on.

But not Brandt.

This is our third mission together since that night in Seattle, and it's the first time that anything has actually gone wrong.  The first two went like clockwork and, while a little more reserved than the rest of us and more prone to keeping to himself, Brandt never really did anything that could be viewed as out of the ordinary.  He did as asked, offered carefully thought out and always beneficial advice, chatted seemingly naturally about things of no consequence and, in general, never strayed away from the team and was always able to be found where he should have been.  To put it another way, he was just the perfect example of an average team mate.  As agreeable to be around as I'd hoped he would be and, really, just the embodiment of normal. While it wasn't, and, again, that was more to do with my reaction than anything else, something I cared to think about all too often, I was prepared to put what happened at Utopia down to an anomaly more than anything else.  Perhaps it had just been his way of... celebrating... having had the heavy, crippling weight of doubt surrounding Croatia lifted from his shoulders.  Sure, it was a somewhat... out there... way to celebrate, but if that's what worked for Brandt then it wasn't as though I had any right to comment. After all, it takes all sorts, and if that was something he derived pleasure from then, again, to each their own.

I still struggled to see it, the correlation between the calm and reliable team mate and the... lost... looking man at Utopia, myself, but...

That was my problem, not Brandt's, right?

Tonight though, it's all just come to a head again.  Something's happened to throw his world off its axis and, needing something, be it release or just a... task... to keep him occupied and to either silence the noise in his head or take the edge off, he's...

Free falling.

If I thought it was just sex I wouldn't care and would have gone back to the hotel suite with Jane and Benji.  I just can't shake the thought that it's not though, that the sex is simply to facilitate whatever it is he believes he needs.  And I'm not just talking about a climax here either as I'm positive there has to be more to it.  To put it perfectly bluntly, an orgasm is something you can achieve on your own.  You don't need a partner to assist you and you definitely don't need an audience.  Failing that, if... flying solo... wasn't his thing, Brandt's a good looking man with a pleasant personality and I can't see him having any difficulties whatsoever in picking up.  He doesn't, in other words, need to lower himself to putting on a show in the back room of a club.

I don't want to be right.

I just don't, but as I come to a stop by a street lamp and watch him walk through another door sadly in need of a fresh coat of  paint and disappear into yet another falsely named club, I know that I am. The door might be blue this time, and the club's name Nirvana, but even without following him inside I can already tell that everything about the place is scarily similar to Utopia.  From the way it's hidden down a darkened alley, to the quality of the men loitering around outside, its purpose just has to be far more sexual than it is for either drinking or dancing the night away.

“I wouldn't, if I were you,” a male voice suddenly announces from just behind me. “Just, take it from me...  Even if you're only looking to pick up, you can do better than stepping foot in that flea pit.”

More startled by the fact that a stranger is taking it upon himself to offer me unasked for advice than bothered by it, I turn around and look the man up and down.  Attractive enough with his greying hair and expensive business suit, I decide that, while, yes, he's most likely gay, he's also most likely waiting for the man at the ATM who, in his dark suit and with his fashionably cut grey hair, could be his clone, and that, no, he's not coming on to me.  “That good, huh?” I murmur, digging my hands into the pockets of my jeans and shrugging.

“Depends on your definition of... good,” the man replies, giving me a knowing look as he glances across the road to Nirvana and pulls a face.  “If you just want to get your cock sucked and aren't particularly fussy as to who's doing the sucking then, yeah, I suppose you could call it good,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder so that he can check that the man I'm thinking has to be his partner is still using the ATM.  “Same goes for if you're the one wanting to do the sucking.  Me though, and you can just call this a spot of useful advice is you like, I wouldn't go anywhere near the joint and even kind of pity those that do.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I reply, flashing the man an incredibly forced smile of gratitude as, not really having needed my initial opinion of Nirvana confirmed, I turn around and, feeling far worse than I did only a few minutes ago, begin to make my way back to the hotel.

Damn it.

I didn't want to be right.

I just...

… Didn't.

Maybe I'm jumping the gun here, and perhaps by not going into Nirvana myself I'm busily convincing myself of something that isn't the case at all, but...

I'm not stupid and I don't need to see a repeat performance of what I saw in Utopia to have it confirmed.

The thought of Brandt feeling as though this is what he needs to put himself through getting to me almost as much as the thought of what there's every chance he's currently doing is, I deliberately blank my mind to the topic that's been holding me captive ever since I noticed his over the top reaction to Jane's wrist and, wishing that – there was something I could actually do for him – I'd never followed him, simply make a beeline for the hotel suite.  Once I'm there I grunt a greeting at Jane and Benji, who, to my great relief are camped out in Jane's room watching a movie, and, not really knowing what else to do with myself, set about writing up the mission report on my laptop in the suite's main living area.

It seems like something of a cop out, especially given the time and effort I've put in to trying to work Brandt out this evening, but I just don't know what else I can do.  For Brandt himself, short of attempting an intervention on something that, really, I know nothing about and am only speculating in regards to, there isn't anything I can do.  I might want to.  And already I'd like to either snap my fingers or deliver the kick up the ass I'm thinking he needs in relation to not taking... occupational hazards... in his life so seriously, but, for now anyway, I just have to make sure I keep a step back and, it being his life, not mine, leave him to it.

Besides, for all I know I'm just indulging in random flights of imagination and this really is simply how Brandt chooses to unwind.

Not entirely delighted with my decision but nonetheless resigned to it, I concentrate on completing the report before, solely for something to do, moving on to the locked IMF website and reading up on all the other current active missions.  The world's scum bags being nothing if not a busy lot, I'm so engrossed in my reading that I have no idea how much time has passed since I returned to the hotel and subsequently am actually surprised when the main door opens and Brandt walks into the suite. Pale, dishevelled, and hollow-eyed, he quickly disguises the flicker of dismay I see cross his face at finding me sitting on the sofa by averting his gaze and, almost as though he's hoping I haven't even noticed him, walking straight across to his room.

It apparently being the story of my life where Brandt's concerned, I just can't – let his return pass without comment – help myself and, looking up from my laptop, blandly query, “Good night?”

Coming to an abrupt, clearly startled stop by his door, he gives a half-hearted shrug and gazes down at his feet.  “It...  It was fine,” he murmurs in a dull, quiet voice that matches his dejected appearance perfectly.

“Get whatever it was you needed?”

“N-needed...?” Jerking his head up at the... strangeness... of my question, Brandt frowns and, although I wouldn't have thought this even possible, pales even further.  “You... have no idea,” he whispers, dropping his gaze again as he pushes his door open.  “Nor... Uh...  And nor do you want to...”         

~*~*~*~

“How about staying, huh?” 

Although I know full well that I'm wasting my breath, I still feel – even if it is probably as much for my own benefit as it is for his, as though I have to try – that, tonight of all nights, he'd be better off just staying in and... sulking... with the rest of us.

It's not often that the team, with full IMF backing, mind you, fuck up, but when we do you can guarantee that it will be with both style and embarrassing consequences.  It doesn't even matter that none of it was actually our fault as the damage is still done regardless and we're all left feeling like either rookies or, in my case, a complete moron.  Our intel, which came direct from the analysts back at HQ, was all very good and thorough, and, sadly, missing the somewhat hugely fucking important fact that the CIA were conducting their own investigation into the matter as well.  Their own investigation that just happened to be quite a few steps ahead of ours and which, when we blundered in oblivious to their involvement, we completely and utterly ruined.

Fun times.

The CIA is pissed.  The Secretary is pissed.  The mole inside the information technology corporation so favoured by both the government and the military is pissing himself laughing at having yet again got away with selling off highly classified data.  I'm pissed.  Jane's fuming... and... pissed.  Benji can hardly believe it and, on the off chance we're struggling to comprehend his... lack of comprehension, he keeps repeating that he can't believe it like a cracked record.

And Will, who used to be an analyst and who the Secretary saw fit to tear verbal strips off for this very reason, is so mortified that he can't get away from us quick enough.

Even more annoyed at the Secretary for singling Will, who like the rest of us had had nothing to do with the intel and was just going on what he'd been handed, out to direct his ire at than I was at having had to endure the CIA's temper tantrum, I argued that he wasn't being fair and that, if anyone should be hung out to dry for the mistake it should be me, as team leader, but...

Once again the damage had already been done.

Will, who, like the rest of us, was already feeling pretty bad, was made to feel even worse and now, as he stands by the door shame faced and avoiding my gaze, only has one thing on his mind.

Escape, and the numbing... comfort... freely offered by the anonymous men he seems compelled to seek out in the hope of fulfilling just whatever it is he feels he needs from them.

Because, now even more so than ever, I know it's just what he does.

Toronto was because he blamed himself for Jane's wrist being sprained.  Paris was because our target got away from us for a day.  Then there was Sydney where, effected by the heat, he got us momentarily lost in the traffic and the confusion of the one-way road system around the CBD. Nothing ever of earth shattering importance or of dire consequence, but still more than enough to dint his confidence and send him out into the night. Toronto was Nirvana, Paris was Oasis and I don't know the name of the specific club in Sydney because, our hotel being above the gay district of Oxford Street, I didn't have to leave the confines of my room and was able to track him to the obligatory darkened alleyway through the window.

And, again, now even more so than ever and despite the fact it's still got absolutely nothing to do with me, I hate it.

I actually hate it.

I hate seeing him crumble before me over things that shouldn't really bother him, and I hate knowing what it is he chooses to do to counter it.

It's just not right.

“I know it's not much of an offer,” I continue, flashing him a hopeful smile even though I know I'm wasting my energy as he won't see it, “but we're going to order in pizza and watch a movie and, Will, you're more  than welcome...”

“What did you just say?” Will interrupts as, his hand hovering over the door handle, he jerks his head up and glances over at me through still downcast eyes.

“That while I know pizza and a movie, of Benji's choosing, I might add, isn't much of a selling point, I just wanted you to know that your presence would be more than welcome,” I reply, increasing the wattage of my smile as I seize on Will's unexpected interest to hopefully mean I might just stand a chance of actually getting through to him.  “You don't have to, you know, go out if you...”

“I thought,” Will mutters, cutting me off, “that I heard you say...”  Trailing off with a heavy sigh, he turns back around to face the door.  “Never mind.  I probably just imagined it anyway.”

“Imagined what?” Getting up from the armchair, I walk over to Will and, as he both looks at me nervously and opens the door, place my hand lightly on his upper arm.  “Will?”

“You...”  Pulling his arm away, Will shakes his head and moves to stand in the open doorway.  “You used my name,” he whispers, giving me a look that's as shy as it is sad, and which, unexpectedly, pierces me to the very core.

“Will...?”  It's a funny thing to realise, but he's right.  Without thinking about it or even being aware of a reason as to why exactly, I've just suddenly changed to viewing him simply as... Will.  Not Brandt, just... Will. I don't know why any more than I know why it is I've been referring to him by his surname up until this point, but I have.  It's what both Benji and Jane call him and it now appears as though, through no actual intent on my part, it's what I'm going to start calling him too.

“Mmm...”  Sighing softly, he shifts further away from me and glances along the corridor towards the elevator and its promise of escape.  “It's the first time you've used it,” he murmurs, shrugging. “I...  I was beginning to wonder if you even knew it or... if you did... whether you didn't feel I was... worthy... of you ever using it or something...”

“Will...”  Fuck. He thought I was calling him Brandt because I didn't think he was... worthy... of having a first name?  Just...  Dear God.  Now I think I've honestly heard everything.  That, and I don't think I could feel sorrier for him and his weird assortment of issues right at this moment if I actually tried.  “I...  Shit!  Look, Will, I'm sorry. If you... didn't like... me using your surname all the time though, why didn't you just say something?  You... don't just have to put up with things if you don't like them and simply need to speak up.”

“Doesn't matter,” Will mutters with yet another small shrug as he dredges up a wan smile.  “It...  It's just a name and I don't even know why I mentioned it.  Just... forget I ever said anything.  You can call me whatever you want, I don't care.”

“I'm still sorry for having called you Brandt for so long if you haven't liked it,” I reply, stepping away from the door in the hope of enticing him back into the suite.  “Come on, Will...”

“Doesn't matter,” he repeats, cutting me off again as he sneaks another glance at the elevator.  “Will, Brandt, Hey You...  It doesn't matter a damn, Ethan, as it doesn't change anything and I'll still be... what I am...”

“And what's that?” I query gently as, trying to force his hand as tentatively as I can, I walk back over to the armchair and sit down.  “Seriously, Will. Come on. If you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you and will listen to anything you feel you want to say.”

Looking horrified that I could even suggest such a thing, Will shakes his head and mutters, “I... I've got to go,” before turning on his heels and disappearing down the corridor.

“Fuck!” Swearing under my breath, I jump to my feet and hurry over to the door. Will's dedication to his goal of escape being greater than mine of keeping him here though, he's already gone from the corridor and I can only imagine that, too impatient to wait for the elevator, he must have bolted for the stairs instead.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Don't tell me, let me guess,” Jane announces as, materialising behind me, she drapes her arms over my shoulder and leans up against my back.  “Our already fabulous day just took another hit and Will decided disappearing into the night was preferable to hanging out with us?”

Sighing, I gently shake off Jane's touch and, stepping back into the room, slam the door. “You got it in one,” I state, leaning against the wall and shooting Jane, who I suddenly think may well know more about Will's nocturnal habits than she's ever let on, a sour look.  “I tried.  I did.  But...”

“He wouldn't have a bar of it,” Jane finishes with both a shrug and an understanding, telling smile.  “It's alright, Ethan.  You tried and that's all you could do.  You're not Will's keeper and, whether we like it or not, he knows what it is he's doing.”

Pushing away from the wall, I give Jane's arm a quick squeeze as I once again return to the armchair and flop down into it.  “He might know what it is he thinks he's doing,” I murmur glumly, “but that doesn't mean it helps, or... or that he's right.”

~*~*~*~

Hard Core.

So 'Hard Core', in fact, that not only is the club's name spelt out in backlit stainless steel on an otherwise bare brick – and ever-so industrial looking – wall, but the two rock apes masquerading as security by the door are both clad in woefully-inadequate-for-the-weather black leather shorts, Doc Martin boots and, apart from a leather studded dog collar around their necks, nothing else.

No.  On closer inspection, having missed the matching nipple piercings, I lie. They're also wearing silver rings through their nipples and, obviously liking the 'twin look', matching dead-from-the-knees-up expressions on their bland, overly tanned faces.

While I shouldn't – even be here – have an opinion on the subject, I don't like it and, possibly as an extreme form of irony, suddenly find myself longing for the good old days of Utopia, Nirvana, or Oasis.  Clubs that weren't any of those things but, to a casual observer, could have been.

Hard Core though, with it's two half-naked man mountains and strip of black carpet leading onto the street from the doorway, it...

Just is what it is and no one could be mistaken for thinking otherwise.

Sighing, I raise the collar of my jacket in a futile attempt to stop the rain dripping down the back of my neck and, no doubt looking like either a pervert or as though I'm some sort of gutless wimp trying to raise the courage to to cross the road and brave the club, dither over just what it is I think I'm doing.  Or, as that's pretty clear (dithering and yet again skating on thin ice in respect to interfering with something that's essentially got fuck all to do with me), what it is I'm actually... going... to do.

Turning around and – washing my hands of it all – going back to the flat we've been using as a base while we've been in London, while the most logic of options, is out, because...

I can't.  I just can't.

Not after the day we've had, and not without at least... trying... to do something.  While what exactly that might be isn't something I'm yet sure of, all I know is that I've got to try.  I would have stopped him from leaving the flat by pulling on my dictatorial Team Leader cap and insisting that we spend the night as a team but, as I should have expected, he was too fast for me and was out the door within ten minutes of our glum and silent return.  Ten minutes in which he managed to shower off the blood, pull on a change of clothes and, without a word to anyone, escape back into the night. If I hadn't been in the kitchen trying to cheer Benji up with my offer to let him choose what form of take-away it was we were going to have for dinner I probably wouldn't have even heard the front door closing and would have just missed him entirely.  As it was by the time I'd grabbed my coat, muttered some bullshit apology to Benji about 'having forgotten I was due to meet a local informant' and made it through the door myself, he was already at the end of the road and I actually had to speed up to a jog to keep sight of him.

He's dedicated, I'll give him that.

Dedicated.  Misguided. Lost.  Fragile.  Private.  Repressed.  Confused.  Vulnerable.

And easily worth far, far more than he thinks he is.

I get that what happened today was a nasty shock and that he needs to... unwind.  We all do. Mitchell Swanson, while not one of 'our own' was a good, in this case Interpol, agent and, having spent the week working the case with him, we'd all grown to know him reasonably well.  He shouldn't have died.  Of that there's absolutely no doubt.  The mission was over.  We had the suspects in custody and, again, it was meant to be over.  A lone shooter, the one remaining free-roaming member of the organisation not accounted for, that was all it took.  He should have been on the run, not vowing revenge for our involvement in ruining the nice little people smuggling ring they had going and lurking around the parking lot we were saying our farewells to Swanson in. Not, I suspect, being all that fussy as to who he took out, the bullet could have hit any one of us. We were all there.  Blissfully ignorant of the imminent danger and completely unaware of what was coming.

He only got off one shot before, spurred into action, Jane and I were on him, but...  It was enough and, taking the bullet directly in the chest, Swanson was dead.  Just like that.  From standing there talking to Will about who would complete what in respect to the paperwork, to lying dead on the cold concrete in less than thirty seconds.

So.  Yes.  It was a shock.  What it wasn't though was Will's fault.  Or, if it was, it was as much mine... and Benji's... and Jane's... and even Swanson's. We were all trained in the art of observation and any one of us could easily have been expected to have noticed the shooter.  But...  We didn't and a man died.  It's sad.  I'm as upset by it as anyone, but, these things, while they shouldn't, just happen.  As much as we might like to think we can, we can't control everything and Swanson's death, sadly, really was just one of those things.  Will was closest, and he was the one to frantically try to stop the bleeding, but, and he's got to know this, there was just nothing he could have done. Swanson was dead before he even hit the ground.

Will... didn't pull the trigger himself, and as there wasn't a damn thing he could have done to save him, he shouldn't be feeling this overwhelming need, or... compulsion... for what it is he's about to put himself through.

If it was just sex as a form of release I wouldn't care.  I wouldn't even care if I had him pegged as a masochist in need of... cleansing... by punishment.

But it's not.

It's not just sex, and I really don't think it's because he's a masochist.

He only... disappears... when something has happened to either upset him or cause him to doubt himself.  Even Jane, although she doesn't know where exactly it is he goes off to and thinks it's simply to – drink to forget – get drunk, has noticed how he reacts to... negatives and is starting to become a little worried about him. Worried to the point of taking me aside after the stuff up with the CIA in Dallas and bringing me up to speed on a couple of things that had happened while, during past missions, she'd been partnered with Will.  One was Moscow when, after having lost a target – a highly skilled target, that is, who just happened to be ex-KGB and not just some Average Joe off the street – he was so on edge and twitchy in their hotel room that she honestly expected him to start climbing the walls.  The other was Madrid where, having accepted that they were too late and that the file they'd been sent to retrieve was already in the wind, he disappeared for hours before eventually reappearing and throwing up violently in the bathroom.

Moscow, I put down to feeling trapped by their antiquated laws regarding homosexuality and knowing that indulging in his usual form of... relief... was simply too risky to even contemplate.  And, Madrid...  Well, I can think of one reason for him to be throwing up like that and, oddly enough, it's not really something I want to consider in any great detail.

Making the right noises to indicate to Jane that she could well be right and Will could perhaps have a drinking problem, I promised that I'd look into it, and...  In my own way, that's what I'm doing. I'm looking into his – bad – habit of disappearing into the night and, somewhere along the line, I'm going to have to do something about it.

Yet...

As I keep, regardless of the fact I fail at every fucking turn, trying to tell myself, it's neither anything to do with me nor any of my business.  Will's private life is just that, his very own personal private life.  It's got nothing to do with me.  He's so incredibly controlled that he only ever... heads out... post mission.  The sense of failure or blame or whatever it is that sets him off could hit during the middle of the mission but, professional to the bitter end, he squashes it down and pushes on until it's over and he's free to... do his thing. He also keeps it entirely to himself and never takes out his internal frustrations on anyone else.  He never sulks or snaps and, along with never being rude to any of us he's always... better... the following morning and back to his usual, pleasant self. 

He does what he feels he has to and it doesn't impact on either the team or his ability to do his job. If I were to hit him with a new mission as he was heading out the door, he would, of this I'm confident, turn around and, regardless of how he was feeling or how desperate he was to... forget, do whatever it was I both asked and expected of him.

Again, he's just a professional.  He's also faultless at what he does and, while I might not like it, how he chooses to unwind is his business.  If it effected his mission work or my ability to trust him, I'd have every right to intervene.  As it doesn't though...

I should leave well enough alone.

But I can't.

And the reason I can't isn't because I want to lord my team leader status over him and get him to conform to my own rules in respect to what he can and can't do.

No.

It's because I...

… Care about him.

I care about the confusing mess of contradictions that is William Brandt. 

He's a great agent, I enjoy being in his company, and although we've only worked together for nine months it's already reached the point where I can't imagine not having him around.  He's attractive, a good friend to have, is generally quite a calming influence on everyone around him, and, seriously, he deserves better than feeling as though he has to reduce himself to having sex in clubs to feel... better.

So, while I'm still fairly convinced it's got nothing to do with me and that there's a pretty good chance I'll only end up making things worse by interfering, that's why I'm standing in the rain outside a club called Hard Core as I wait for inspiration to hit as to what exactly it is I should do.  I wanted to stop him from going out at all, so... Do I go into the club in the hope of catching him before he's scored his first... friend... and present him with an offer he can't refuse in respect to just coming back to the flat with me?  Or... Do I give up and, forcing myself to respect his privacy, simply return to the flat on my own?

Another sigh escaping my lips as I accept that, having already made it this far I may as well just admit to stubbornness and push forward, I do my best to quash the sense of foreboding I've been experiencing ever since watching Will disappear into Hard Core and, both straightening my back and broadening my shoulders, stride across the road and step on to the strip of black carpet leading into the club.  The two Muscle Mary's paying me no attention, I walk up to the positively-mundane-in-comparison man – think Clark Kent, complete with glasses and a white business shirt – at the counter and am about to dig around in my pocket for some cash when, with a smile, he gestures at me to put my money away.

“As your friend's already paid, you can go straight in,” he announces, tilting his head in the direction of the door that will take me in to the actual club.

“My... friend?” I query, giving the man a questioning look as the... implications... of this unexpected turn of events fly around in my head and leave me feeling just that little bit... ill.

Fuck.  He knows.

Will knows I was following him and that, in turn, I... know.

I know his... dirty little secret, and... now he knows that I know.

Just... Shit.

“Mmm...  Your friend,” the man replies, frowning at my unenthusiastic reaction to the fact the club's exorbitant cover charge has already been paid for me.  “You know, about your height and looks as though he feels he alone is personally responsible for everything that's currently wrong with the world.”

“Ah... That... friend.”  I smile weakly and, turning around and fleeing back in to the rain drenched night not really being an option, begin to move towards the door.  “I...  I suppose I'll have to go thank him, then.”

“We're pretty crowded tonight, so good luck finding him.”

Ignoring the man's... kind offer... of good fortune, I step into the club and, just like I did in Utopia all those months ago, scan the oddly familiar scene in front of me.  Bar.  Dance floor.  Booths and tables.  If not for the black and silver metal theme throughout the club and the fact that the décor is clearly expensive and still cared for as opposed to old and tired, I could, as far as I'm concerned, even be in Utopia.  Men from all walks of life loiter with intent everywhere I look, the music, although more industrial than dance, is still awful, and the barmen are half naked and glistening with sweat.

And, just like that night in Utopia, I can't see Will anywhere.

My sense of foreboding growing greater by the second, I shoot a warning look at the man in the too tight black leather pants who was heading my way with a welcoming... leer... on his face and, not much caring if I look like a man on a mission or not, set about systematically searching the place for Will.  Hard Core being both far larger on the inside than it looks on the outside... and... a veritable rabbit warren of darkened rooms leading off darkened corridors everywhere, it seems to take forever to make my way around the club and – the less said about some of the things I encounter on my way and the wandering hands that seem to stray across me everywhere I go the better – as I'm nearing what I think has to one of the last rooms I'm honestly beginning to wonder if he's even still here or whether, having put me off the scent by paying for my entry, he's just slipped out a back door and gone on his not-so-merry way to another club.

Then...

As I open the door on yet another of Hard Core's... private... rooms, I find him.

And immediately wish that I hadn't.

If paying my entry was his... subtle... way of letting me know he was on to me, then this...

This is both a slap in the face and something else again.

Something that I don't need to see and which, having now seen it, I'll never be able to truly get out of my mind.

Completely naked.  On his hands and knees on the stained carpet and... simultaneously pleasuring the other two, equally as naked, men in the room with him. One fucking his mouth while the other fucks his ass.

It should probably be hot, but it isn't.  The men are both fit, toned and far from unattractive, but... No.  Just, no.  I'm far from being a prude, and I have nothing against threesomes if all of the participants are both into it and willing, but, Will...  His eyes are closed and he's still limp, which tells me that he can't even... raise... a purely physical reaction to what's happening to him.

“Hot, huh?”

Jerking my head around to glower at the man both peering and leering over my shoulder at the show being performed in the room, I mutter, “No.  It's not,” as I pull the door shut and, suddenly feeling as though I can't breathe and that I've got to get out of here, start to walk off.

It's a cop out, a terrible one, just leaving him there, but short of making a complete and utter scene by barging into the room and – beating the... quite innocent... men into a pulp – wrenching him free, I...

I just don't know what else to do.

Will's his own man and all the choices he makes are his and his alone.

I just have to keep telling myself that.

~*~*~*~

“Oh.”

Backing my hardly imaginative comment up with an open mouthed expression of – dismay – shock, I drop my hand away from the light switch and gaze at Will as he sits, gazing back at me and scowling, in the armchair by the corner.  He looks about as impressed to see me hovering in the doorway as I am to see him... skulking... in the living room, and for quite a few – lengthy, drawn out and near on intolerable – seconds we just stare at each in mute, annoyance tinged surprise.

“Oh,” Will repeats, narrowing his eyes and giving me a dismissive look.  “You can't honestly be standing there expecting me to believe that... this is just a coincidence, and you're not... checking up on me,” he continues in a flat, defensive tone as, grimacing with pain for some reason, he folds his arms across his chest and continues to do his very best to out stare me.

“Trust me, it's just a coincidence,” I mutter with a casual shrug as, not quite knowing what to do with myself, I shift away from the doorway and come to a stop behind the sofa.  “Seriously, Will.  I thought I heard my phone beep and I just came downstairs to look for it.  Finding you here was... uh... just a bonus.”

Frowning, Will, as another flicker of discomfort flits across his face and leaves me with no alternative but to think he has to be hurting somewhere, stretches his legs out in front of him and slowly shakes his head. “Some bonus.”

While it's on the tip of my tongue to offer up the retort of, 'you're telling me', I somehow manage to choke it down and walk around the sofa to take a seat on it.  He can choose not to believe me if he likes, but it really is the truth.  I was in bed – toying with the idea of whether... shooting... sheep in my mind would be more effective than simply counting them in my attempts to get to sleep – when I heard a noise downstairs that I thought might have been a message coming through on my phone. It appears now that whatever it was I heard was most likely Will either coming through the front door or sneaking into the living room, but, at the time and because I've become so fucking adept at tuning him out, I really was just thinking about locating my errant phone as I walked into the darkened room and flipped the light on.

Hell.  If I'd known he was lurking, of that he was even back, I probably would have just stayed in bed and put off looking for my phone until – Benji and Jane were awake, up, and inadvertently playing the role of peacemaker – morning.  I'm no wimp.  I've climbed, without a safety harness and with only... dodgy, untested IMF 'tech toys' to assist me, the Burj Khalifa, for Christ's sake.  In fact, I've done things that most sane, perfectly rational people wouldn't even contemplate, let alone actually do.  Showing courage – or, as it's a fine line, some might say, lunacy – in the face of adversity is what I've made a career out of doing.  What's more, it's something I both take for granted and rely on.  Whatever it takes.  If it needs doing, I'll do it.

When it comes to Will, however...

I'm done.

After the graphic – 'I don't care, so why the fuck should you?' – display in London, I just... gave up. I didn't want to, and to this day, close to four weeks on, I still feel the same degree of care and concern about him that I always have, but, feeling as though he'd left me with no choice, I closed myself off to his... activities and have been refusing to pay them, or even Will himself, for that matter, much attention ever since. 

The first few days were the hardest as both of us made a very deliberate point of never spending so much as a minute alone together.  As it was, even being in the same room with Benji and Jane as backup was enough of an awkward head fuck.  Will wouldn't look me in the eye and, my memory having the unfortunate habit of constantly flashing back to the sight of him naked and on his knees at Hard Core, I could hardly bring myself to look at him, period.  It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, a pleasant time and I just know the others, although they wisely didn't say anything and kept their opinions to themselves, must have been feeling the tension as much as both Will and I were.  If we hadn't received our next mission, which gave us all something to focus on and lose ourselves in, as quickly after Swanson's death as we did then I don't know what would have happened between us.  I knew I still wanted to work with Will and that, ultimately, my thoughts regarding his professionalism and abilities hadn't changed, but what I didn't want to do was either think about, or raise the subject of what it was he'd made a very deliberate point of having me witness.

He could... keep doing what it was he clearly felt he needed to do, and I... could just turn a blind eye to it.

Not my life, not my business, and not even something I needed to have an opinion on.

And, while it hasn't been easy, I've been keeping up my side of my self-imposed bargain by doing my best to ignore his proclivities and... just getting on with my own life.

I still care about him, possibly more than I should and definitely far more than he wants me to, and I still wish he felt better about himself, but...

Whatever.

His life, not mine.

I just have to work with him, not watch him like a hawk or... impose... myself on his every move.

Again, it wasn't easy, but I even just took myself off to bed tonight when, taking – as usual – our small failure to stop the target from catching a flight to Lisbon and becoming another team's problem to heart, he slunk out the door the second we'd finished eating and Benji, wanting as always to keep us all together, had started tentatively murmuring about whether we'd perhaps all like to watch a movie.  I could have followed him, or even tapped him on the shoulder and put him on the spot by demanding that he explain himself, but, not really seeing the point, I just let him go. If I'd followed him I only would have seen something I didn't want to, and if I'd tried to talk to him he would have only blanked me, so...  I made my peace with doing nothing and did just that. As far as I was concerned I didn't even want to see him again until – it was all over and done with for another night and he was back to usual self – morning.

I certainly didn't want to see him again tonight.

Especially not in pain and, unless my eyes are tricking me, wearing a different t-shirt to the one he walked out of the house in.

My – 'ignore him, he's not your problem and doesn't give a fuck what you think anyway' – resolve not only faltering but also completely dissolving in the face of Will's bedraggled appearance, I sigh heavily and, although I know I'm probably only asking to be smacked down with either indifference or attitude, murmur, “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Will mutters with expected contrariness as, almost as though he thinks I've got a nerve asking such a stupid question, he half sneers at me. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Good night, then?” I query, leaning back against the sofa and, as I refuse to let him think he has the upper hand simply because he'd have to know I've been avoiding – this – him, looking over at him coolly.

“Awesome.”

“Awesome, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“Got what you... wanted?”

“Always.”

“You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that.”

“Don't judge it until you've tried it,” Will retorts as, already having had enough of our... attempt at conversation, he gets both slowly and laboriously to his feet.  “Look, Ethan, it's been fun, but...”

“You're in pain,” I interrupt, following suit and getting to my feet so that I can move a little closer to him.  “Will...”

“I'm fine,” he replies, giving me a warning look as he takes a step away from me. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Uh... Maybe because your... awesome... evening seems to have left you looking as though you're moving like you've aged fifty years in a couple of hours,” I murmur, shrugging as I hold my hands up in a gesture of – 'fine, you win' – defeat as I return to the sofa.  “But, whatever.  If it works for you...”

“I...”  Sighing, Will lowers his head and, all the time avoiding my eyes, starts to walk towards the door.  “One of the men,” he whispers, “felt the need to hold my arms above my head the entire time. I...  I don't know why, seeing as it wasn't like I had any intention of going anywhere, but...”

But, his shoulders, given that it was only yesterday that he'd only just managed to get the upper hand in a fairly physical confrontation with one our target's hired muscle and which had left him battered and bruised, wouldn't have been up to it and he's now been left feeling even more sore than he was earlier in the day.

Talk about making an already crap experience worse.

“A shower would probably help,” I offer, swivelling around on the sofa so I can keep watch on Will as, coming to a stop by the door, he leans against the door frame and gives me a tired look.  “Failing that, I...” I probably shouldn't even be thinking this, let alone be about to give voice to it, but... Damn it!  He looks so weary and defeated that I've just got to try.  “I could always give you a massage.”

“A... massage?” Will echoes, his eyes widening in surprise that I'd even dare suggest such a – hands on – thing.  “Don't tell me, let me guess,” he continues in a drawl as his expression clouds over and he hooks his thumbs around the belt loops of his jeans to strike a pose against the doorframe, “a... happy ending... is an optional extra?”

And, just like that, Will and his obliterating sense of self-loathing wins again.

“As I don't know what, if anything, could make you happy,” I murmur, standing up from the sofa and, without bothering to look at him as I walk past, making my way out through the door, “Perhaps, Will, you'd better just stick to the shower.”  Pausing at the foot of the stairs, I glance over my shoulder at Will and, finding him gazing after me with a dull, wounded expression on his suddenly quite pale face, give him a sad smile.  “While I'm not going to hold my breath, I hope you feel better in the morning.  I really do.”

~*~*~*~

"No."

Coming to an abrupt stop only inches away from where I'm standing, blocking – his exit –  the door, Will folds his arms across his chest and shoots me an annoyed look.  "Excuse me?" he murmurs in a quite, deceptively polite tone as he cocks his head to the side and, almost as though he's sizing me up, looks me up and down.

"You heard me," I reply, mirroring his defensive stance by crossing my arms and, by taking half a step back, making sure I fill the doorway.  "No. You're not going out."

"You can't stop me," he responds, looking, for all of a split second, actually surprised that I'm even daring to up my interference to this – in his face, and unmistakeable – level before, as usual, the shutters slam back down and he reverts to glowering ominously at me.

He may well be right in that, if push really does come to shove, I can't stop him.  In fact, having studied his fairly impressive fighting skills on quite a few occasions in the past, I fully expect, if things really do deteriorate to a... physical... point, that he'll no doubt hand me my ass on a platter and be out the door while I'm either still seeing stars or trying to drag myself back into an upright position.  Will can fight and, although we're evenly matched in size and most likely training as well, I know that I couldn't best him in a fight unless I managed, early on in proceedings, to land a knock out blow that left him cold on the floor.  I don't, oddly enough, want it to come to that but, Goddamn it, as I'm not in the mood to back down tonight if it really is what it has to take then, seriously, so be it.  I'll fight him and, one way or another, I'll win.

I'm not leaving him to his own devices, and he's not giving in.

Not tonight.

Not after the day we've had.

As Pyrrhic Victories go, today was... just award winning.  Yes, we eventually achieved our goal of neutralising the target and securing the intel, and, yes, the cost to the team was absolutely far too high.  While – Thank. God – their injuries aren't life threatening, both Jane, with concussion and bad bruising, and Benji, with a nasty bullet shaped flesh wound in his side, are in hospital for a night of continued observation and, because it's what he does, Will's struggling to hold it together in his haste to just... lose himself.  I have a headache, that the two painkillers I managed to find and dry swallow during the five minutes it took Will to walk into the hotel suite and swap what was left of his suit for black jeans and a black t-shirt before attempting to head straight back out again, have hardly managed to put a dint in and, really, I've just had enough.

I've had enough of worrying about the health and well being of Jane and Benji and whether there was anything I could have done differently today that would have stopped them from getting hurt, and I've more than had enough of Will and his apparent obsession with... the all consuming need to whore himself.  Between London, that night two weeks ago when he was so sore that he could hardly move, and the look of anxious desperation on his face now, it...

It's just got to stop.

"I beg to differ, actually," I murmur at last as, feeling the urge to further inflame the situation in the hope of bringing things to a head, I add to Will's increasing ire by flashing him an unbothered smile. "In fact, if it's what you really want, by all means try me."

"You don't want to do this," Will retorts, clearly taken aback by my sudden display of stubbornness but, like me, giving no indication of wanting to – play nice – just back down or rethink his plans for the night. "Trust me, Ethan, you... really... don't want to do this and need to just get out of my way."

"You're right," I agree, still smiling my smug, annoying smile.  "I don't want to be doing this at all."

"Then..."

"But I am doing it, and the sooner you realise that you're not going to win and may as well just be a good boy and give up now, the better."

His expression further souring at being referred to as a 'good boy', Will tightens his arms across his chest and, lifting his head, makes a very deliberate point of looking me in the eye.  "What's it to you anyway?" he mutters with a small shrug.  "What I choose to do with my time is of no business of yours."

"Maybe I just want to spend the night in your scintillating, not to mention... charming... company," I drawl, increasing the brightness of my – button pushing – smile.  "Have you ever thought of that? You're just such a delight to be around that I can't bear the thought of letting you out of my sight."

"While you might be up for my... delightful... company, what makes you think I want to be stuck  with yours?" Will replies as, finally letting his arms drop to his sides, he gives another shrug and takes a step back. "Just...  Stop sticking your nose in where it's well and truly not wanted and... let me pass so that we can both simply go about our... own... business."

"I could do that, I suppose," I respond, "but I'm not going to. I don't know... Have you ever stopped to think that, given the crappy day we've all had, that maybe, just maybe, I don't want to spend the night alone myself and that, seeing as you're the only one of the usual suspects still standing, you're... it."

It's true, too.  I don't want to be my own and just want, as I know he has to be feeling the same – shattered and upset – way, to be with Will.  He doesn't even have to talk to me and can spend the night sulking and glaring daggers at me from the sofa as... It would still be better than nothing. He'd be here.  He wouldn't be doing what it is he's convinced he needs to be doing, and... it would just be better than the alternative I'm currently trying to stave off.

I don't want him to be feeling this way, and I don't want him to go.

"Stop it," Will scowls, "you're making me feel all warm inside."

"That well may be, but it's still the truth."

"And I still think, company wise, that you'd be as well off going outside and picking up the first vagrant you met on the streets."

"A vagrant, huh?" Shaking my head, I give Will an amused look.  "If that's what you honestly think of my people skills, you're now not the only one feeling all warm inside."

"It was more a comment on my lack of people skills than yours," Will responds quietly as, frowning, he brings his hands up to his face and rubs his temples.  "My lack of... well... just about you name it..."

"Will..."  My smile slipping, I reach out and lightly touch him on the arm.

"Just...  Don't." Jerking his arm way, Will sighs and takes a step back just out of my reach.  "I... I need..."

Knowing that what he thinks he needs and what it is I think he needs are two entirely separate things, I shake my head.  "No.  You don't."

"I do.  You... You don't understand."

"Then try me.  In fact..."  Pausing, I look across at Will and, when it becomes obvious that he's not going to meet my gaze, shrug.  "As I want to, make me...  Make me understand."

“No..."  Lifting his head, Will gives me an almost pleading look and, looking like he doesn't know what to do with them, once again crosses his arms across his chest.  "You don't, you... can't... understand, and... Please.  Just get out of my way and let me go.  I need...  I need to go..."

“Fine.”  I... Fuck.  I can't believe I'm about to – even go there – say this but, not having really entered into this with any plan other than keeping Will with me, I just don't know what else to do. It's not as though things are exactly moving forward, and I know that if we keep standing here snapping at each other that eventually it'll just have to turn physical, which is just about the last thing I want, so...

If he truly... needs... this, then the only way he's going to get it is on my terms.

“Not having it in me to argue with such pig headed stupidity,” I mutter, digging into my pocket and pulling out the car keys, “let's go.”

Frowning, Will looks at the keys and clearly hesitates over making a move. “I don't need a lift,” he states flatly.  “Uh...  Thanks for the...”

“Oh.  I'm sorry.  We appear to have our wires crossed here,” I interrupt, dangling the keys from my finger as I shift away from the door in order to pull it open.  “My... magnanimous... offer is more... chaperone... than chauffeur.”

“Chaperone?” Will echoes as, too stunned by this turn of events to disguise his shock, dropping his arms loosely to his sides, he gazes at me through wide eyes.  “Why, Ethan...  I didn't know you liked to watch.”

“Well, there you have it.  You really do learn a new thing every day,” I mutter, stepping through the door before coming to a stop and glancing over my shoulder at Will to see whether he's going to follow me or whether, horrified by the thought of having me shadow his every move, he waves the white flag of defeat and just gives up.  “Come on, then. Seeing as, if you must know, one of my all time favourite things is watching a friend and someone I happen to care about get used and abused by every Tom, Dick... and Harry, it's time to get a move on.”

“It's my life,” Will protests, giving me a truly pissed off look as he strides through the door and slams it shut after him.

“I know,” I agree, reverting to my nonchalant act of smiling blankly and giving his arm a small, condescending pat as – calling my bluff – he sets off towards the elevator.

“Mmm...” Coming to a stop by the elevator, Will jabs his finger repeatedly into the button to call it to our floor.  “My life and, what's more, my choice.”

“I know,” I repeat, smacking his finger away from the button as though I'm a parent reprimanding a petulant child. “Just as it's my choice to avail myself to a free show.”

“Free?”  Snorting, Will shakes his head.  “Try again.  If you're going to insist on coming with me then I'm going to have to insist you pay the cover charge.”

Shrugging, I step back as the elevator doors open and gesture Will inside.  “As it'll be a small price to pay for the performance, I don't have a problem with that at all,” I reply, joining him in the elevator and pressing the button for the basement level parking lot.  “And that's what it is too, isn't it, Will...  The whole thing is just one elaborate, not to mention sordid, performance.”

“And yet it's still my life, not yours,” Will grinds out, closing his eyes as he leans back against the wall.

“That it is.  And I wouldn't be doing this if I thought you did it to just get off, or even if you actually... enjoyed... it.  But you don't, do you?”

“I...  I have my reasons.”

“But they're not for pleasure, are they?”

Sighing, Will opens his eyes and gives me a beseeching – 'why are you doing this?' – look. “What they happen to be though are... my... reasons.  Look, Ethan.  You don't want to be doing this.”

“Neither do you.”

“But I'm going to.”

“Then so am I.”

“Then don't blame me if you don't like what you see.”

Saved from our... bickering... deteriorating even further by the lift doors opening and a maid pushing a room-service trolley joining us in the elevator, we both fall silent and continue the rest of our journey down to the parking lot in silence.  Will's absolutely one-hundred percent right. I don't want to be doing this and pretty much wish I'd never opened my stupid fucking mouth and had just knocked him out.  I mean, God knows spending the night next to his unconscious body on the sofa while berating myself for my actions would have to be preferable to the awkwardness of our current situation and what we both know is coming.  Will, having stubbornness as well as his sense of desperation on his side, isn't  going to back down regardless of how uncomfortable the whole thing is making him, and, having made it this far, I'm not going to back down because...  I can't.  I have to get it through to him that I care enough about him to do something as irrational as this in the first place, and that there really isn't a damn thing that he can do scare me off.  He can try, and he might even hate me for putting the spotlight on him, but, seriously, that's just tough as I'm not going anywhere.

Tonight's the night that something is going to have to give.

Once we've reached our level and, not quite trusting him not to try and slip off and ditch me, are walking side by side through the parking lot towards where I parked the Mercedes, I glance at Will and flash him another smug smile.  “So, I take it that you know where we're going.”

“I do,” he mutters as, having decided that two can play at this game, he smirks back at me and rattles off an address on the outskirts of Berlin's club district.  “Think you can find it?”

“A club with the... imaginative... name of Schwarz in the club district,” I mutter, speeding up my pace and getting in front of Will so that I can open the passenger door for him.  “It'll be a stretch of my abilities, but I think I can manage it.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Will retorts, giving me a funny look as gets into the car. “Thought you said you weren't playing the role of chauffeur...”

“Chaperone,” I correct with a quick bow as I shut the door and jog around the Mercedes to climb into the driver's seat.  Pulling the door closed, I click my seatbelt on, start the ignition, smile beatifically at Will, and... calmly engage the child lock to keep all the doors shut until I decide it's time to open them again.

No doubt not believing that I'd be so... pathetic, Will tries to open his door before, with both a groan and a shake of his head, swivelling around to look at me.  “You... didn't...?”

“I did.”  Beaming, I reverse the car out of the parking space and point it in the direction of the ramp that will take us up to street level.

“I...”  Will shakes his head again. “You're... unbelievable, you really are.”

“What are you talking about?  Surely you've got to agree that the child lock is a lot less restrictive than my other option of cuffing you to the door handle...”

Tough love.  That's now the name of the sick and twisted game we're playing.  It shouldn't be, but it is and I'm going to see it through.  Wherever the night might lead, I'm not backing away and I'm going to follow Will wherever he chooses to take me.

“I...”  The sheer nerve of everything I'm doing to him rendering Will speechless, he settles instead for shaking his head yet again and glaring at me.

“What?” Spotting a gap in the traffic, I plant my foot on the accelerator and slip the Mercedes into it.  “I've seen addicts do some pretty desperate things in my time and I... didn't want to tempt fate.”

“Fuck you,” Will snaps, his eyes flashing with long pent up emotion.  “Just...  Fuck you.”

“Oh, hey...  Now it's my turn to learn something new for the day.”

“What?”

“Having put you down as more of a... receiver... than a... giver... I didn't know that you switched.”

“What?”

“Oh.  I'm sorry.  I thought your... fuck you... comment was actually an offer.”

“As in...”

“As in I thought you were offering to give as opposed to take.”

“Oh.”  Will gives me the sort of look that makes me think he's suddenly decided I've grown a second head... or maybe even horns.

“Hey...  I'm not saying no,” I murmur, bringing the car to a smooth stop at a red light, “but you're going to have to make up your mind.”

“What?”  His confusion palpable, Will goes back to the tried and true act of simply shaking his head to indicate his disbelief.

“Not sharing your love of an audience,” I reply with an easy shrug, “if that's what you've decided you'd prefer, I'd like to know now so I can just turn the car around and head back to the hotel.

“It...”  Sighing, Will tilts his head back against the headrest and gazes up at the roof.  “It's not... love,” he mutters flatly as, ignoring the rest of... what I was getting it, he closes his eyes again and falls silent.

“Funny, that,” I whisper, more to myself than to Will as, sensing that there's nothing else to be said for the time being, I simply concentrate on guiding the Mercedes through the heavy traffic.  Our hotel not being that far out from the club district, it probably only takes ten or so minutes to reach Schwarz and, not really caring if we get either a parking ticket or wheel clamped, I park the car in a No Parking Zone directly opposite the club's matt black door.  Unlike all of the other clubs, Schwarz needs neither a neon sign nor half naked, muscle bound doormen to advertise what it is and I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I was getting a good feeling about the place.

“Last chance to change your mind,” I murmur, glancing hopefully at Will as I hesitate over undoing my seatbelt.

“As this is where I want to be, I'm good to go,” Will responds, unbuckling his seatbelt and giving me an expectant look as he places his hand on  the door handle.  “You, however, are free to pretend none of this ever happened and, once you've unlocked the fucking door and let me out, can just leave me to it.”

“Yeah.  Right.  Nice try.”  Disengaging the child lock, I undo my seat belt, open the door and, even though it's honestly the last thing I feel like doing, climb out of the car.  “You coming, or what?”

Joining me out on the street, Will looks over the Mercedes' roof and shrugs.  “Just remember this is all of your own doing, that no one's forcing you to... babysit... me.”

“I'll do my best,” I murmur, walking around the car and grabbing Will's cold hand in mine.  “You, however, in turn have to remember that the only reason I'm here is because you feel as though you... need... to be,” I add, dragging him across the road behind me and, before either logic or common sense can stop me, banging my fist against the door.  A bald man wearing nothing but a pair of black leather shorts opening it all but immediately, he looks us up and down with an impassive expression on his face for a couple of seconds before stepping back and, after grunting the amount, holding his hand out for payment.

Releasing Will's hand in order to pull my wallet out of my pocket, I pay the man and, once he's counted the notes and gestured us inside, walk through the small foyer and directly into the main body of the club.  Bar, predominantly empty dance floor, matt black décor as far as the eye can see, awful music, leather clad men loitering against the walls or seated in groups in the booths and at the tables.  Just...  Same old, same old.  It's a gay club with one main purpose and... I've seen it all before.

Biting back a sigh, I turn around to check on Will and, to my absolute incredible annoyance, discover that he's already pulled his disappearing act and is nowhere to be seen.

“Fuck!”  Unable to see the point in merely swearing under my breath, I spit out a few more expletives and, making a mental note to never underestimate his extreme – dedication – cunningness, set about locating him.  Just as in London, it takes longer than I would have liked, exposes me to sights I would have been far happier not seeing, and, when I do finally find him I'm left both open mouthed and feeling as though there's not a single solitary thing I'll ever be able to do for him.

Already naked and lying on his stomach on a bed placed in the middle of a small, dimly lit room that reeks of both sex and – desperation – sweat.  A man, a complete stranger, standing, still fully clothed by the foot of the bed and, as he feels himself up through his jeans, leering down at him.

Not sexy, more... tragic and, even if I was here with only one thing on my mind I think I'd be more inclined to want to hug him than just... fuck him.

But...  Fine.  As I'm almost as responsible for the current mess as Will is...

… Here goes nothing.

Stalking into the room, I place my hand on the man's shoulder and tilt my head in the direction of the door.  “Out,” I declare blandly as, shaking off my hand, he turns around and gives me a heavy lidded dismissive look. “He's mine.”

“Free country,” the man retorts in heavily accented English as, towering over me and clearly feeling confident in his perceived superiority, he continues to rub his cock through the denim of his jeans.

“It is,” I reply with a baleful smile as I glare into the man's eyes and, just for the hell of it, poke my finger into his broad chest.  “But... he's not a country, and, trust me, he's far from free.”

“Fuck.  You,” he snarls, glowering down at me and not giving any indication whatsoever of giving up without a fight.

“Another offer?  Talk about it being my lucky night,” I murmur sweetly.  “That said, not in your wildest dreams.  Now...  Out!”  Shifting behind the man, I shove him towards the door and, as he spins around to take me on, give him a threatening, evil eyed look.  “Just...  Walk away.”

Seeing something in my eyes that his tiny excuse for a brain translates to mean that, well, shit, I really do mean business – that, or I'm borderline insane and could flip out at any second – the man shares one final scowl at me before, with a shrug and a whispered insult in German, lumbering out of the room and pulling the door forcefully shut behind him.

Relieved, more or less, to be alone with Will, who – is either pretending to be dead or who is just so far gone that he literally doesn't even care anymore – is still lying on his stomach on the bed, I gingerly take a seat on the edge of the mattress and sigh heavily.  “While I wouldn't be human if I didn't say that it wasn't... tempting,” I murmur, wafting my hand over his back and, although I don't actually touch him, causing goosebumps to break out across his skin, “but... Not here.”

“If you want it, you can have it,” Will whispers down into his folded arms that he's using to rest his head on.  “I'm here, Ethan, and I'm... good to go.  So...  Whatever.  If you're going to... scare... everyone off then... then you're going to have to be it...”

“While, again, I can't say it's not tempting,” I reply, lightly placing my hand on his shoulder blade, “not here.”

“Then just let me be!”  Rolling over onto his back, Will sits up and, wearily running his fingers through his hair, gives me a sad look.  “You... Please, Ethan.  You don't understand.”

“No.  I don't, but... Like I told you earlier, I want to.”  Pausing, I shift a little closer to Will and, accepting that, while it may not be the time or the place, I have to say it for no other reason than, well, it's the truth.  “I...  Actually, Will...  You.  I want you.”

My proximity not pleasing him any, Will shuffles away from me and presses his back against the wall.  “Then... have me,” he murmurs, gesturing down at his body and, just as I knew it would be, limp cock.  “I'm here and I've got no... objection...”

“No objection, huh? Again with doing your best to make me feel all warm inside.”  This really having to end now, I stand up and, returning to my 'tough love' theory, decide to lay my final, harsh card on the table in the hope of it delivering the kick Will needs.  If it doesn't work, and he just... goes along with it... then...

I'll have a melt down at that bridge if I come to it.

“Okay.  Fine.  You win,” I state in a quiet calm voice that sounds nothing like how I'm feeling at all.  “I want you and, as I want to be the one to be able to give you whatever it is you think you need, I'll... try... to do what I can for you, but...  Not here.  We... either leave this dump and go back to the hotel or...”  Here goes nothing.  “Or, if that doesn't work for you I'm going to open the door and put the call out to the entire club that you're in here and... desirous... of their company.”

“The... whole... club?”  Paling, Will glances towards the door and swallows hard. “You... wouldn't.”

“I would.  What's more, I'd even stay here and watch as every single one of them did whatever they wanted to you.  If...  If this is what you want, Will, if you want to be treated like shit and have a horde of strangers use you, then...  Here's your chance.  You say you need it and, if that's really the case, then, here... I'm offering it to you...”

His expression as wary as it is resigned, Will lowers his head and whispers, “You don't understand...”

“And, again, I want to...”  Trailing off, I walk up the head of the bed and hold my hand out towards Will.  “Come on.  Let's get out of here and go back to the hotel.”

“I...”  Keeping his gaze averted, Will tentatively places his hand in mine and slowly allows me to help him off the bed.  “I need this...”

“You don't,” I reply, squeezing his hand as I look around the room for his clothes. “You need... something, but...  It's not this.”  Spotting his clothes in the corner, I lead him over to them and, without letting go of his hand, bend down and scoop them up.  “Here.  Put these on and, while I still don't know what it is you think you... need... I promise that I'll try to give it to you when we're back in our rooms.”

Nodding, Will, although he still won't look at me, takes his clothes and, without either comment or complaint, let's me help him get dressed.  Once he's clothed and looking about as broken as I've ever seen him, he risks a fleeting glance at me and sighs.  “You... promise...?”

“I promise that I'll do whatever I can to try to help you,” I confirm softly as, once again taking his hand in mine, I tug on it to get him to move in the direction of the door.  “Come on, Will.  I can think of about a thousand places I'd rather be than here, can't you...”

Although he doesn't reply, Will tightens his hand around mine and allows me to walk him out through the club and back to the car.  He doesn't even comment when, once we're in the car, I don't bother with the child lock this time and simply start the engine and drive off.  In fact, he doesn't even speak until we're finally back in the main room of our suite and then, as nerves begin to make themselves known in the pit of my stomach and make me doubt just what the hell it is I think I'm doing, hones straight in on the heart of the matter.

“You promised.”

With his voice barely above that of a whisper, his miserable, embarrassed expression and slumped shoulders, I...

I could no more go back on my hasty promise than I could flap my arms and fly.

“I... did.” Nodding, I seize on the first idea to pop into my head and, seeing as nothing else is forthcoming, point towards the bathroom.  “Just... Why don't you go into the bathroom and... uh... I'll join you in a minute.”

“If that's what you want...” Shrugging, Will doesn't question my... out of left field... direction and simply – does as he's told – wanders over to the bathroom. 

Procrastinating only delaying that which is now fairly obviously inevitable, I wait a few minutes – during which, I'm very sorry to say, inspiration doesn't hit and I'm still left feeling as though I'm heading into whatever this is blind – before walking, full of misgivings, into the bathroom and finding Will standing in the centre of the room with his back to the vanity unit.  Already naked and with his standard, unreadable expression fixed firmly in place, he doesn't so much as glance in my direction as I pull the door shut and – clearly wanting to get this show on the road – starts to lower himself down into a kneeling position.  Knowing both what he's less-than-subtly getting at and that I'll be damned if I'm going to let him set either the tone or the pace of just whatever it is that's coming, I close my hands around his shoulders and, with a quick shake of my head, draw him back into an upright position.

Shrugging off my touch, Will looks me in the eye for all of a fleeting second and frowns. “But...”

“I haven't decided if that's even what I want yet,” I interrupt in an airy, dismissive tone as I take a step back and both very deliberately and very slowly look him up and down.  While no more on display before me than he was in that depressing little room in the club, the lighting, along with the brilliant white tiles on the wall, in the bathroom is far brighter, and although I know it's as illogical as it is improbable, he just seems far more exposed somehow.  Same firm, toned and smooth flesh, same perfectly formed and proportioned – not to mention limp – cock, same slightly defiant yet simultaneously vulnerable expression.  Yes, I've seen it all before, but at the same time it's like I'm seeing him for the first time. Incredibly attractive, a body that can not be faulted and that I honestly long to get my hands on, but...

Empty.

He's just empty.

If not irreparably broken.  

If I didn't think it would – push him over the edge once and for all – only result in him bolting for the door and disappearing, I'd grab him in my arms and just hug him.  It's not sex he wants, or to use his seemingly favourite term, needs, it's someone who'll look after him and try to get it through his stubborn head that he's not as alone as he's convinced himself he is.

I just don't know if I'm that person, though. 

God knows I want to be, and I don't know what I'll do if this only ends up hurting Will even more or driving an insurmountable wedge between us, but...

There's just no denying that I'm out of my depth. 

I'm good at thinking on my feet, and there's no questioning the fact that – or so I really do like to think, anyway –  I've got Will's best interests at heart, but this...  This is something else again.

This is...

… Playing with fire.

And the cost if it fails doesn't bear thinking about.

Giving in and embracing Will being no more open to me than – retreating – walking out of the room and leaving him to his own mixed up devices, as I'm fairly sure either option would only make an already awkward situation worse, I'll both see it through and give it everything I've got simply because I know that I have to.  He needs help one way or another, and if I can't be the one to offer it to him myself then maybe, just maybe I can be the one to deliver the kick start he requires to find it himself.

“Hate to break this to you, Ethan,” Will drawls, hiding his obvious discomfort at being so intently peered at behind a sneer and a casual roll of the shoulders, “but, if your voyeurism stretches to wanting a solo show, you're out of luck as that's not something I have any intention of doing.”

Fuck it.  Just because I don't want to do the wrong thing here doesn't mean I'm going to tiptoe around the situation or let Will dictate the terms.  While I doubt he wants to be doing this any more than I do, he at least probably has a better idea of both what he's doing and why he's allowing it, and I refuse to let that, his upper hand, if you like, get the better of me.  Again, I'm out of my depth, and, again, whether he likes it or not, I'm doing this for him and he's just going to have to play by my made-up-as-I-go-along rules.

“As that would be too hard to fake,” I murmur, dropping my gaze and making a point of looking at his cock as I give a casual shrug of my own, “I'm not surprised.”

“Liking what you're seeing, huh?” Will mutters in a flat voice positively oozing disbelief as, in a move that's as weary as it forced, he glides the palms of his hands down the length of his torso before brushing them lightly against his still very much limp cock.  “You can see why I'm always such a hit, yeah?  Why there's at least one thing I can't fail at...”

…  At least one thing I can't fail at.

Dear God.  I don't want to know.

To hell with curiosity. I suddenly just, really, really don't want to know.

“Of course I'm liking what I'm seeing,” I confirm quietly as I lift my gaze and try unsuccessfully to catch Will's downcast eyes.  “But then again, I like the entire fucked up package and happen to think it's fairly special.”

“More fool you,” Will mumbles.  Letting his arms drop loosely to his sides, he shrugs again and, narrowing his dull blue eyes, defiantly meets my gaze.  “If you like it so much you can always go and get your phone and take a photo.”

Choking back a sigh, I walk over to Will and, placing my hands on his shoulders, gently turn him around to face the large mirror hanging on the wall above the basin.  “What about you, Will?” I whisper directly into his left ear as I trail my fingers lightly down the curve of his back.  “Do... you... like what you see?”

Although, and, sadly, I definitely don't see this as a victory on my part, he makes no attempt to get away, Will lowers his head in preference to viewing his reflection in the mirror and stares down at the basin.  “Ethan... Please...”

“The reason I'd never take a photo is because it could never come close to replacing the real thing,” I murmur, resting my hands on his slim hips as, leaning against his back, I continue to direct my responses to his left ear.  “You're special, William, and somehow I'm just going to have to get this through to you.”

His breath catching in his throat, Will shakes his head and curls his fingers around the edge of the marble vanity unit.  “You don't know what you're saying,” he states both faintly and breathlessly.  “Ethan...”

Catching sight in the mirror of a hand towel hanging on the rack by the door, an idea – random at best and possibly even astonishingly ill advised – jumps uninvited into my mind and, before common sense has time to enter the equation and stop me, I make the snap decision to immediately put it into action.  “Just...  Don't move,” I whisper as I throw caution to the winds and plant a quick kiss to the nape of Will's neck before stepping back from him and snatching up the towel.  “Now...  Don't panic,” I add softly as, returning to him, I pick up first his right hand and then his left from the vanity and tug them behind his back.  I then, as sucking his breath in and jerking his head up, swiftly tie the towel around his wrists, binding them together.  It being far more an idea, a concept, more than anything, than it is actual restraint, I tie it loosely enough that he can free himself with ease and, as everything about this sad and sorry evening, can only hope that I'm not making a horrible mistake.

“Why, Ethan,” Will mutters as, straightening his shoulders and tentatively flexing his wrists, he glowers at me in the mirror.  “As it really is the day for learning new things, I didn't know you liked it rough.”

“I don't,” I murmur, returning my hands to Will's hips in order to turn him back around to face me.  “I could never hurt you.  Not... even if you wanted me to.”

“It...” Refusing to look at me, Will relaxes his shoulders and lets his bound wrists rest against the small of his back.  “It's not about pain,” he replies faintly.  “That... That's not why I do it...” 

“But nor does is it usually seem to be about pleasure, either,” I respond with a soft kiss to his lowered forehead.  “This time, however, Will, it's all about you.  The hands are... because I don't want you to think you have to do anything for me.  So...  Please...  Unless you want it to stop now, and never forget that all you have to do is say the word, that I'd never force you into anything, just... let me try to show you pleasure...”  Trailing off, I shift away from Will and, as he continues to gaze down at the floor, quickly pull my clothes off.

Naked, and with my heart beating dully in my chest, I walk over to the shower and open the glass door before leaning in and turning on the water.  I then, once I've got both the temperature and the flow to my liking, turn back around to find Will looking at me in a way that can be best described as... cursory.  Cursory as in... seen bigger, seen smaller, yeah, whatever, seeing as it's not as though I actually care anyway you can stick it wherever you Goddamn please.  I could be wrong.  Hell, I could be over-crediting him with so much as thinking anything.  But, seriously...  Surely a little interest wouldn't go astray?  I'm not self conscious enough to take his blatant... disinterest... to heart, but, I don't know, I can't help but get the impression that it would have taken more than suddenly exposing a varied collection of piercings in unique places and the Bat Symbol tattooed on my ass to have raised as much as a... hint... of interest from him.

… Been there, done that.  Again, just don't really care.

… Have your way with me if that's what you want.  In fact, do whatever you want to me.  My body's here and it's yours to use however you see fit, but my mind, my mind's locked to you and I can't decide if I'm willing, or even able to let you in.

And, yes, Will's aura of loss, indifference, vulnerability and feigned bravado just fucking gnaws at me.  He's a better man than the one he's convinced himself he is, but just how the fuck am I supposed to get it through to him?

By sex?

By pushing him into the one thing he seems to turn to quieten the noise or whatever the hell it is in his head when it all gets too much for him?

By forcing... my... idea of what he needs onto him when, at the end of the day, I don't even know what's caused him to be this – broken – way in the first place?

Oh yeah.  Go me.

What's that saying again about the road to hell being paved with good intentions?

I want, in my own, possibly misguided way, to help Will, not push him further – into the abyss – away.

But...

Having started down this rocky and windy path, I'm going to endeavour to stay on it as long as I know I've got Will, regardless of how reluctantly and warily this may be, by my side.  I mean, what else can I do?  I don't even know what would be worse at this point, calling it off now and going to hide somewhere, or just slapping the proverbial blinkers on and going ahead with it.

So...

Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.

Putting everything I've got into trying to dredge up a reassuring smile to flash at Will, I tilt my head in the direction of the shower and gesture at him to join me.  “Come on.  I'll wash your back for you.”

“Bundling me into the shower,” Will mutters with a scowl, “talk about having all the subtly of a sledgehammer.”

“What are you talking about?” I reply, confused as to where his mind has taken him... this... time.  “If you don't want to...”

“You think I'm... dirty,” he interrupts, glaring at me as the pained expression on his face betrays the dull, emotionless tone of his voice.  “You think, because I do the things that I do, that...”

“I don't think you're dirty,” I state, cutting Will off as, again, I really can't help but think I'm both out of my depth and sinking fast.  Maybe, I don't know, for my next trick I should... intentionally... try to do the wrong thing and see if can... really... wound him.  If nothing else it would make a change from simply stumbling around without thinking and just putting my fucking foot in it.  “In fact...  You're not. You're not dirty, I've never once thought that about you, and...  The shower is simply because... I like showers.  Okay?” I continue hurriedly.  “There's no ulterior motive, if you want nothing to do with it or... just want to write all of this off as a bad idea, then...  Just say the word.  Will...  Whether it seems like it to you or not, you're the one in charge here, not me.”

Frowning as he mulls over my – admittedly babbled – response, Will glances at the door for a couple of seconds before looking back over at me shrugging.  “What is it about you and water?” he murmurs, his expression once again as unreadable as ever as, his decision obviously made, he takes a step towards me.  “First that river in Moscow and now this...”

“If it helps, you have my word that the water in the shower is a lot warmer,” I respond with a quick, natural smile to indicate my – heartfelt – relief both at not having scared him off and the fact that he's still prepared to push ahead.  “Come on, Will.  For the wont of not knowing what else to do for you, please... Just let me wash you... Or... If there's anything you'd like, speak up.  Again, whether you believe it or not, this really is about you...”

“As I'd be lying if I said I cared, just... Whatever,” Will replies faintly as, avoiding my eyes, he walks past me and gets into the shower.  “If sharing a shower is what does it for you, Ethan, then...  Again.  Whatever.”

My mass of misgivings certainly not letting up any at Will's far from confidence-inspiring... acceptance, I mutter, “Whatever,” under my breath and follow him into the shower.  Closing the glass door behind me, I look at Will as he stands, his back against the black tiled wall and about as far outside of the warm spray of water as he can manage and, finding the image more tragic than sexy, sigh. Shifting closer to him, I ignore how he takes in a sharp intake of breath at my sudden proximity and lightly place my hands on his slumped shoulders.  “Do you trust me?” I query matter-of-factly as, biting down on his bottom lip, he looks past me to the door.

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” I repeat, still making a very deliberate point of ignoring how, possibly in an attempt to stave off mounting panic, Will's now sucking his breath in and pressing his back hard against the tiles. “This will be better for both of us if you trust me,” I add, using my hands on his shoulders to slide him under the water before dropping them to my side and taking a small step back. 

“And if I don't?” Will whispers, blinking water out of his eyes as he stands up a little straighter and gives me another one of those looks that's as wary as it is shy.

“Then I'm out of here,” I respond, moving back in front of Will in order to catch his gaze but, being nothing if not a quick learner, remaining at least an arm's length away from him.  “Because this has never been about making you feel uncomfortable, if you don't trust me then this stops now.  You're not... a blow up doll, Will, and you don't need to feel as though you have to do this.”

“I...”  As a grim, vaguely determined smile settles over his lips, Will gives a small nod and rests his shoulders back against the tiles.  “I trust you,” he states with another nod.  “I...  I trust you more than... I've trusted anyone for a long time...”

He trusts me.

I'm not going to say it aloud, but, seriously... Thank God for small mercies.  If he'd allowed things to get this far – naked,  and both cornered and effectively trapped in a shower – without trusting me, then... Shit.  Really, it's just another one of those things that simply doesn't bear thinking about.

“In that case,” I murmur, making no attempt to disguise my smile of relief as I move closer and return my hands to his shoulders, “let me make you feel good.”

“It...”  Sighing, Will tilts his head back and gazes up at the ceiling.  “It's not about me...”

“But it should be,” I counter, gently running my hands along his shoulders and down his upper arms.  “And this time, Will, it is.  For once, I want you to feel... something.”

“But...”

“Uh-uh.  No buts,” I interrupt, closing my hands perhaps a little too tightly around his upper arms and causing him to lower his head and give me another wary look.  “Now...  Shhh...  Just pretend that this is one of your... normal... encounters and that, as your mouth would surely be being put to another use by now, you can't talk...” 

I know it was a horrible thing to say, and I can tell from the pink blush suddenly staining Will's cheeks and the way his eyes just flashed that my pointed comment honed right in and hit the mark, but, still subscribing to the 'cruel to be kind' school of thought, I needed to take charge and move things along, and...

Proving, I think, as that was the best I was able to come up with, that all of this really does just happen to be well and truly above my pay grade.

“I'm sorry, Will,” I whisper, softly kissing his cheek before, without warning, spinning him around and pressing his chest against the tiles.  “That was uncalled for, but...  Please...  Just let me make it up to you...”

Shrugging what could just as likely be either his acceptance or disinterest, Will doesn't reply and, taking this to be as close to a 'go for it' as I'm ever likely to get, I grab the bottle of shower gel from the small shelf by the taps and pour a generous amount of the fresh, citrus scented liquid into the palm of my hand.  Returning the bottle to the shelf, I rub my palms together to get a nice lather going before – mentally crossing my fingers that this is actually going to work – placing my hands flat on Will's back and simply beginning to... wash him. Will, by now, I suspect probably thinks I have some sort of shower fetish or a particular predilection for either washing my partner or wanting them 'squeaky clean', but it's not really that at all.  Yes, I happen to like standing – alone or with company, I'm not fussy – under a warm stream of water and, okay, I have over time had a couple of spectacular... encounters... in a shower, but this...

This, for Will, who it's all about regardless of what his own opinions on the matter happen to be, is hopefully just... something different.  More... innocent, than – sordid – merely a means to an emotionless, anonymous end. Warm.  Gentle.  Comforting.  Ultimately, it's all about simple, and, again, innocent, pleasure.  Not fucking, or just – and as base as this sounds it still strikes me as being the cold, hard truth – having a cock shoved somewhere for no other real reason than you're... offering.

I want, above and beyond everything else, Will to feel good.  Or, if that's asking too much, for him to at least either experience one small iota of pleasure or to feel that, okay, perhaps there is something to being treated with kindness and respect after all.

I also, at the risk of causing my altruistic halo to slip and choke me, just... want Will.

Period.

I want him.

Of course I do.

He's beautiful, compelling, a challenge of the like I've never experienced before, and, right now, he's naked in a shower with me.

Naked, and mine to do with however I see fit.

I could...

… Fuck him.  Spread his legs without warning or care and dive right in.

… Spin him around, push him to his knees and order him to open his mouth.

… Tie him up properly and have my way with his entire body until I knew, once and for all, just how far he was capable of taking his act of indifference and what it would take to make him reach breaking point.

I could dominate him, and both use and abuse him before leaving him feeling even more detached and worthless than he did before.

And...

He'd let me.

He'd let me take that tiny glimmer of hope, the one that's allowed him to get this far, and grind all life out of it before he felt worthy of having an opinion and speaking up.

I'd never do it, and I feel ill just thinking about it, but I could.

Then again, glossing over the whole 'never in a million years' side of things, why would I want to treat him like an object when, with a little patience and thoughtfulness, I can have him like he is now?

Relaxed.

Smooth, firm flesh, warm and pliant under my hands.

Trusting.

Caught up enough in the moment to, at long last, be finally with me.

Hard.

I'm not doing anything either special or particularly creative, just combining a full body wash with a half massage, but it's enough.  Enough to both turn Will on and remind him that, yes, there is more to sex than simply suppressing your own needs and submitting   I'm merely touching him, and still only his back, at that, but it's working and I, for one, can hardly believe it.  All of the uncertainty and tension has left his shoulders, and although he's keeping his stoic act up by remaining steadfastly silent, I know that I've got him by the feel of his relaxed muscles under my hands and the way he's had to tilt his hips slightly back from the tiles in order to accommodate his erection.

Knowing that I can't let the success go to my head and that I still have to tread carefully, I lather up my hands again and, gliding them slickly down the length of his back and over his ass, crouch down and turn my attention to washing his legs.  Once they're done, I give – in to temptation in more ways than one –  my own already hard cock a couple of quick tugs before pouring the shower gel directly along the cleft of his ass and, both slowly and gently, beginning to massage it in.  I don't, even though it's not without it's own temptation and does actually take a fair degree of willpower on my part, make any attempt to access his hole and just concentrate on maintaining my stance of keeping it both simple and all about the comfort of touch.

Again, he'd let me probe him, in fact, he may even be expecting – or possibly even wanting – it, and to be perfectly honest part of me would like nothing more than to bury myself in his tight, incredibly appealing ass, but I'm not going to.  I could be wrong or making a mistake in treating him so – delicately – tentatively, but I just can't shake the feeling that, in this case, slow and steady has a better chance of winning the long term goal of... keeping... him with me.

Giving him whatever it is he thinks he both needs and gets from the clubs while receiving my own... reward... of an orgasm is one thing, but I want more.

I want Will, the man, not just his body.

So...

Erotic, and certainly hot it its own way, yet not overt.  Sensual, more than stock standard sex.

With absolutely no pun intended, it's not hard.  Have Will, relaxed and coming alive under my touch and with the hopeful promise of it not being a one off event, versus fucking him and probably undoing all the work it's taken to get us here.

It's really not even a question worth wasting time on.

Shifting to the side to let the stream of water falling from the shower head rinse the lather from Will's ass, I grab the gel and tip yet more of it into my palm as, moving back closer to him, I reach between his slightly spread legs and close my hand around his balls.  Obviously surprised by this, he sucks his breath in and squirms almost imperceptibly as I massage them for thirty or so seconds before pulling my hand free and standing up.  Kissing the back of his neck, I slowly run my hands over his back for one last time and, with another kiss, this time to his left shoulder, turn him around and press his still bound wrists back against the tiles.

And...

Oh.  God.

If I wasn't already hard I would be now.

With his parted lips, heavy lidded eyes, flushed skin and erect cock bouncing against his flat stomach, Will makes for such a glorious sight that I can't help but both gasp and smile wolfishly.  Not knowing whether to state the obvious – that he's so fucking gorgeous – or to seek verbal confirmation that he really is okay, my brain rebels at making such a terribly difficult decision and, opening my mouth, I somehow manage to go instead with, “Can I kiss you?”

Blinking, Will looks at me for a few seconds before giving the tiniest, barely noticeable of nods.

“Are you sure?” I murmur thickly.  “If you're not okay with...”

Moist lips settling over mine rendering the rest of my question redundant, I eagerly return Will's far from reticent kiss and, wanting to make sure he keeps his balance, drape my arms over his shoulders and, placing my hands flat on the tiles behind him, press my body tightly against his.  This, of course, causes our cocks to brush together and, without breaking the kiss, we both gasp as yet another jolt of pleasure courses through our bodies.  Pressing my leg left between Will's to ensure that our cocks remain in constant contact, we kiss passionately for what feels like minutes before the urge to move things along gets too much for me and, with a groan of complaint, I pull back and retrieve the shower gel from the floor.

“Have to finish what I started,” I whisper as, wanting to get my hands back on Will's body, I pour the gel directly onto his toned torso and, as the nearly empty container falls to floor, begin to gently rub it in.  Closing his eyes, Will tilts his head back against the wall and, as his muscles flex under my touch and his nipples harden, starts to breath through his mouth.  Hardly believing my luck that this, on so many levels – he's here, he's both allowing it and is so obviously into it, not to mention, dear God, he's so incredibly hot –  is actually happening, I trail a line of feather-light kisses along the middle of his chest and, kneeling down, tip the last of the gel onto my palms. I then close one hand around his cock and, using the gel as a lubricant, start to slowly jerk him off as I glide the other between his legs and carefully fondle his balls.

His eyes flying open, Will whimpers and pushes into my hand.  “Please...”

“You're the one in charge here,” I murmur, looking up at Will and flashing him a smile as, releasing his cock from my hand, I lower my head and languidly lick my way up its length.  “Whatever you want.  Tell me, Will, what do you want?”

“I want...” Whimpering again, Will gives me a beseeching look and tilts his head back against the tiles.  “I want you to keep doing what you've been doing,” he whispers.  “Please, Ethan...”

Delivering my own twist on Will's earlier trick of removing the need for words by – actions speaking louder than they ever could – placing my lips over the tip of cock, he falls immediately silent and tilts his hips forward. Taking this, my latest success, as an open invitation to focus solely on bringing him to climax, I throw everything I've got at lavishing attention on his cock and balls.  It not being any more about control, denial, or drawing the moment out, than it is about creativity or wanting to... prove... my prowess, I simply do to Will what I like having done to me.  It's not exactly rocket science.  I know what works and what doesn't, and, yes, while it does differ from person to person, I like to think I've already got a pretty good handle on what works for Will.

Nothing rough or painful. Nothing unexpected or... out of the ordinary.  Nothing that makes him feel as though he's only there to serve a purpose, and that, not meant to have any feelings of his own, he may as well be an inanimate object.

He'd take it.  Like I was thinking earlier, I could do anything to him.  Even now, when I honestly think I've convinced him to believe that this is both real and – very much – okay, I could destroy his tentative trust by doing something to hurt him.  It wouldn't even have to take much. Twist his cock.  Pull too hard on his balls.  Slap his ass.  Reach up and pinch his nipples.  Something that would probably be taken as either teasing, taunting or even just as a bit of a random surprise to spice things up in an established, trusting relationship could instantly take him back to place he doesn't need to be, and...

It just wouldn't be fair.

For all my doubts and fears over whether I'm doing the right thing or not, I'm both enjoying myself and am cautiously hopeful that just maybe there's a chance this could be the start of something undeniably special.  For Will, however, this is something he needs.  He needs to be treated with the respect he deserves, and he needs the simple pleasure of being able to climax for no other reason than he's relaxed enough to be caught up in the moment and enjoying himself.  He also needs to know, and I'm not talking here about keeping his eyes open and fixed on me, who it is that's touching him so intimately and that they're doing it for him as opposed to simply... to him.

Basically, he needs to remember... and relearn... what sex should be like.

And that's that it should really be like this.

Using only my mouth, tongue and hands, I alternate between jerking Will off and either licking or sucking his cock while all the time using my other hand to massage his balls.  Again, it's not particularly creative or rocket science, but what it is is effective.  In fact, if the sound of his increasingly heavy breathing and the way he's given into the urge to tilt his hips forward is anything to go on, I think it could even be said that it's both very effective and easily makes all the uncertainty it took to reach this point worthwhile.  My own cock as hard as I can ever recall it being, I ignore its demands for a quick touch here or there and concentrate solely on bringing Will to orgasm.

When I sense that he's close, I change tack slightly and, making a ring out of my thumb and index finger around the base of his cock, swallow him as deeply as I can.  As I would have felt safe betting my life on given how close I took him to be, this pushes him to completion and he climaxes with a strangled gasp that I have to say with a degree of sadness shares just a little too much with a whimper for my liking.

But, oh well...

What's that saying about one step at a time, again?

Gently releasing his softening cock from my mouth, I surreptitiously wipe the back of my hand across my lips and, reaching around his back, quickly untie the now quite incredibly loose towel from around his wrists before dropping it to the floor and standing up.  “Okay?” I murmur, rubbing my hands up and down the length of his arms as, looking at me dazedly, he brings them forward and lets them rest by his side. “Will?”

“I...  Of course...” Blinking, he gives a quick shake of his head and, after glancing down and catching sight of my erection, immediately starts to lower himself into a kneeling position. “Uh...  Let me...”

“While I don't have it in me to say no,” I reply as, pulling him back upright, I grab his hand and place it on my cock, “I've actually got a better idea...”

Clearly confused as to what I'm – now – getting at, Will, even though he nonetheless takes my cock in his hand obligingly enough, frowns.  “But...”

“Trust me, I think you'll like it,” I state with a smile as I manoeuvrer him around until our positions are changed and I'm the one with my back pressed against the tiles.  “You see,” I continue, still smiling as I kiss the tip of his nose, “I'd quite like to put your mouth to another use...”  Trailing off, I capture his lips with mine and, resting my hand on the small of his back, pull him tightly against me.  Will being nothing if not a quick learner, he accepts my no doubt for reasons completely unknown to him preference for sharing a passionate kiss instead of going down the more traditional path of just getting a blow job without hesitation and eagerly kisses me back as, keeping his hand closed around my cock, he both slowly and expertly jerks me off.

The combination of sensations, from the feel of Will's smooth body against mine to the moist pressure of the kiss and all the way to the friction of his hand as it works my cock, being more than enough for my increasingly over-heated senses, it only takes a couple of minutes at best for my imminent climax to build to pressure point and, although part of me would love to prolong the moment, I don't fight it and just give in to pleasure.  Thrusting into Will's hand, I come with a silent cry that I feel throughout my entire body and, wrapping both my arms around him, slump forward into his welcoming embrace.  More minutes, as pleasant in their own way as everything that's just passed have been, slip by as, lost in our own thoughts, we hug and kiss under the gradually cooling spray of water.  Eventually, not to mention unfortunately, though the water starts to get cold enough to cause me to, with a final kiss to his forehead, reluctantly pull free of Will and turn off the taps.

With the loss of the water comes a sudden dose of reality and, as I step out of the shower and snatch up a towel, Will remains standing in the cubical.  Water drips off him and, lowering his head, he won't look at me as I dry myself.

“Will?”  Dry enough for the time being, I tie the towel around my waist and, grabbing another one, walk back over to the shower and hold it out to him.

Taking the towel from me, he holds it limply in his hand and, keeping his gaze averted, mumbles, “Now what?”

“What do you mean... Now what?” I query as, once again feeling as though I need to take charge of things, I step into the shower and take the towel out of Will's hand.  “I was thinking, as it's late and been a... funny... sort of a day, that I'd just go to bed,” I add with a shrug as I start to gently rub the towel over Will.  “You, of course, are more than welcome to join me.  In fact, speaking for myself here, I'd actually like nothing more, but...”  Pausing, I close my hand around his and pull him out of the shower before continuing with my self-imposed task of drying him off by crouching down and applying the towel to his legs.  “The choice is yours, Will.  You can come with me and we can sleep together, or you can go to your own room and do... whatever.  Hell, if you still feel as though you need to you can get dressed and go back to the club.  I...  I won't even try to stop you.”

“I...”  The choices open to him clearly being too much to get his mind around, Will looks down at me and shakes his head.  “I... I just don't know...”

“And I can't make your mind up for you,” I reply, dropping the towel to the floor once I'm satisfied that he's dry and standing up.  “I'm here if you want me to be, Will, but if that's not what you want then... I'm sorry... I don't know what else I can offer you.”

My piece said, and not knowing what else it is I can really do, I trail my fingers lightly down Will's cheek and, as he stares down at his feet, turn around and walk out of the room.  My heart yet again beating dully in my chest, I make my way over to the door and turn the overhead light off before letting the towel slip from my waist and climbing directly into bed. While I'll cope, not overly happily, but, whatever, if he leaves the bathroom and goes to his own room, if he walks out of the door fully dressed and looking as though he's heading back to the club, I honestly just don't know what I'll do.  It's his life and I'm not his keeper, but...

Honestly, what's it really going to take to get through to him?

Settling myself on the mattress, I close my eyes and keep them closed as I hear the light being switched off and Will walking quietly out of the bathroom. Minutes tick slowly – and I mean... slowly... by – as he stands, still trying to make his mind up, in the middle of the room.  I toy with the idea of sitting up and trying to find the words to convince him to stay but, not even knowing where to start let alone whether it would do me any good, I don't move and, somehow, don't even so much as sigh.

Just...

Please.

Don't go.

Go to your own room if that's what you truly want, but don't return to the club because you've got to believe me that you're better than that.

Far better.

Sighing, Will walks over to the bed and, as my eyes fly open and I turn to watch him in the dim, dull light, quickly lifts back the bedding before climbing onto the mattress.  “I hate you,” he whispers, rolling onto his side and, in direct contradiction to his bland, completely without venom comment, draping himself around me and, in general, just making himself comfortable.

“So...  This is you hating me, huh?” I murmur, shifting onto my side so I can – make no attempt whatsoever to hide my relief and delight at his decision to stay – better hug him back.  “You're comfortable enough though, yes?”

“Yes,” Will replies with another soft sigh as rests his hand flat against my chest.

“Is there anywhere else you'd rather be?”

“No...”

“You know that I'd never hurt you and that every decision you make is yours alone and, while I might not like it, I'll certainly respect it?”

“I hate you,” Will whispers again, stroking his fingers across my chest as he shifts even closer.  “I... I'd made my peace with not... feeling, and not... wanting, or... even feeling worthy of these things, but... You... You're making me... feel... again and it...  It scares me.  I believe you, I believe... in... you, and I... I just don't know what to make of it...”

~*~*~*~

I wake, alone in the bed but not alone in the room.  Although Will's no longer alongside me, and hasn't been for some time if the coldness of the mattress by my side is anything to go by, I can tell he's still in the room before I've even opened my eyes.  All people have their own interpretation of a sixth sense, but mine, as would everyone's in this line of work, is particularly pronounced because, basically, it has to be as there's always a chance my life might depend on it.  He's not moving, and I think, although I could be wrong, he's somewhere by the window, but he's certainly still here because, simply put, I can sense it.

There being an argument to be made for... letting sleeping dogs lie, I could just roll over and – leave Will alone for a change – try to go back to sleep. While not without its very definite positives, the night's been a difficult one and I don't want to ruin the inroads we've made by making him think I've set myself up to be his own personal keeper and can't bring myself to let him have a moment's peace.  If he wants to lurk for reasons known only to himself in a darkened room in the middle of the night then he, of course, has every right to do just that without being harassed.  There's also the probably quite considerable chance that, just because they've have gone... reasonably... well so far, things could deteriorate if, solely because I want to see if he's okay, I inadvertently push Will even further into a corner.

So... Logic clearly states that simply continuing to lie here playing dead is most likely in everyone's best interests.

Only...

As always.

I can't.

I can't just leave him there dwelling on whatever it is that caused him to get out of bed in the first place for.

Not tonight.

Not when he's already made it this far.

I know it's a risk and that my luck could well be about to run out, but I have to try to get it through to Will that none of this has been a... twisted game... and that I am actually here for him if he wants me to be.  If it turns out to be the wrong decision then, although I'll definitely be pissed off and disappointed with myself for having undone all this evening's hard work, at the same time I'll still know that at least I tried and didn't just ignore him.

My decision, albeit not entirely confidently, made, I sit up and turn on the bedside lamp. Finding Will sitting in the armchair by the window, I take in the miserable picture he makes and don't even attempt to choke back the sigh it immediately installs in me.  Just... Fuck.  Naked, feet on the edge of the seat, arms wrapped tightly around shins, forehead resting on knees, and... still. 

Incredibly still.

While I mightn't have any idea what it is that's about to come, the one thing I do know is that I'm already glad I decided to make the effort to check on Will because, yet again, he really doesn't deserve to – be going through just whatever it is he so very clearly is – feel so alone.

“Will?”

The sound of my voice managing to achieve what the sudden light from the lamp hadn't in that it causes Will to lift his head up from his knees, he looks over at me through weary eyes and gives a lacklustre shrug.  “I suspect I owe you an explanation,” he states in a voice only just loud enough for me to hear.  “I mean, it...  It's not much of an explanation, but...”

“You don't owe me anything,” I interrupt, countering his resigned expression with a gentle smile.  “This isn't about... debt or a sense of obligation and I don't want you to ever feel as though you have to do anything you don't really want to.”

“Then...  What is it about?” he queries, frowning in apparent confusion as he gives another half-hearted shrug.  “Surely you have to have some sort of... agenda...”

An... agenda?  Dear God. Whoever or... whatever... it was that caused Will to be this way certainly did one hell of a number on him.

My smile slipping as I yet again can't help but wonder if I do actually have what it takes to be able to get through to him, I look Will in the eye and mirror his shrug.  “No agenda,” I murmur.  “Just... an offer of friendship and to be here for you should you ever want me for anything.”

“But...  Why?” Obviously struggling to comprehend why I'd want anything to do with him, let alone why I seem so determined to actually put myself out for him, Will shakes his head and sighs.  “I'm... nothing... to you.”

“You're not... nothing. You're my friend, my agent, and someone I happen to care quite strongly about.”  Pausing, I shrug again and, because I already know this is going to go on for a while, rest my back against the bedhead and make myself comfortable.  “Will...  You're a challenge, I'll give you that, just as I'll also throw frustrating in to the mix as well, but what you are most definitely not is nothing.”

“I...”  Closing his mouth, Will drops his gaze to his knees.  “You say frustrating,” he whispers, “and that, to me, takes us back to my... offer... of an explanation.  Ethan, you...  You can't honestly be sitting over there not being eaten alive by curiosity as to why I'm... such a slut.”

Slut.  He thinks he's a slut.  Brilliant.  This just keeps getting better and fucking better.

“You're not a slut, Will,” I reply in my best no nonsense, and I don't want to ever hear such a thing again, tone.  “If I thought your... night time proclivities... were simply to scratch a very insistent itch I'd have left you to it because, let's face it, how you choose to get off is none of my business.  I also would have left you to own devices if I thought you had an exhibitionist streak and got off on the attention. Hell...  If I thought you enjoyed it or honestly did it solely because you wanted to I... I would have left well enough alone...” Trailing off, I draw my knees up to my chest and, like Will, gaze down at them in preference to accidentally making eye contact. “But...  It's not about any of that at all, is it?  It's no more about pleasure than it is pain, and...  To be honest with you I'm not entirely sure it's even about sex...”

“It...”  Sighing heavily, Will falls silent for a few – long – seconds before quietly continuing.  “It's about feeling... useful, as though there's at least one thing I can't... and please excuse the extreme irony here... fuck up.”

Oh yeah.  Better and fucking better, indeed.  He lets himself be taken by strangers in a club because it makes him feel useful and isn't something he can fail at?  I think I've now officially heard everything and can hardly wait to see if he proves me wrong by letting slip with something even worse.

“Will...”  I feel so bad for him that his name comes out of my mouth like a groan.  “What are you talking about?  You're no more of a slut or a fuck up than I'm... the Queen of England, and...  Shit!  Why would you even think such a thing?”

“Because it's what I've accepted ever since Croatia,” Will replies.  “Okay.  I know now that what I thought happened wasn't the case at all and... before you get all antsy or apologetic... I don't blame anyone or hold any grudges.  What happened, happened, and... I reacted the way that I did.  It's... history.  I blamed myself for not speaking up and causing the death of an innocent woman and, regardless of it not having gone down that way at all, what followed still... happened and... was a direct result of it.”

“I...”  Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!  It doesn't even come close to covering it, and I know there's not a damn thing I can do to undo the hideous mess my – at the time, carefully thought out – actions went on to cause, but I've just got to say it anyway.  “I'm sorry...”

“I know you are,” Will surprises me by responding.  “You've got to believe me though, Ethan, I bear no grudges.  I didn't have to... lose it as spectacularly as I did, and... no one forced me to do anything that followed.  I...  Believe it or not, I've always been in control of my own actions.  Now...  While, no, I don't really want to be doing this, I still feel as though I owe you and, well, as I think it's fairly safe to say you're wanting to know and am only being polite in saying that you don't, I... I'm going to tell you everything...”

“You don't have to.”

“I... do.”

“No.  You don't.  None of this has been about putting you on the spot or making you feel as though you're obliged to do anything.  Yes, I'm curious, but that doesn't mean you have to...”

“Maybe not,” Will murmurs, cutting me off, “but I'm going to anyway because I think it's... only fair... that you know.”

Mentally waving that damn white flag of defeat again, I shrug my acceptance and, glancing over at Will, find him still gazing down at his knees.  “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoes with a sigh.  “Okay. Not even really knowing how to explain this, I... I'll just go for it and hope for the best.  So...  During the year leading up to Croatia I'd been... seeing... Jason Byers.  You probably know him.  He's one of the agents who specialises in the Middle East.”

Know him?  Having worked a mission with him once, I know Byers.  I also know him to be a complete asshole who believes in his own publicity and who would sell his grandmother if he thought it would be to his advantage.  In fact, I dislike him as much as I've ever disliked anyone and, despite being a fellow IMF agent, probably wouldn't feel any sense of compulsion to so much as piss on him if he was on fire.  Arrogant, rude, domineering – the man has the people skills of a mentally incompetent barbarian and the thought of Will, who's none of these things, having had anything to do with him is almost the cherry on top of everything else he's so far had to say.

“I know Byers,” I grind out at last.  “He's...”

“A douche bag,” Will finishes drily as he looks over at me and pulls a face.  “I know that now, but... at the time he was... okay.  It was... and why beat around the bush here... just sex.  A mutually convenient hook up, if you like.  In... hindsight... it wasn't the best idea I'd ever had but, again, at the time it was pretty much okay.  Byers was far more... adventurous or... experimental... than I'd ever felt any urge to be and... because it was something different and I thought there'd most likely be no harm to come from it and that... maybe I might even like it, I... I just more or less went along with his... suggestions.”

“Suggestions?” Although I don't really want to know, for some reason it still just manages to slip out anyway.  The mere idea of Byers, who even when clothed in a suit is built in such a way that he looks as though he should be in a wrestling ring, so much as laying his hands on Will is bad enough without the... experimental... angle coming into it. That, and the less said about his hard, piggy-eyed and thin lipped face the better.

“Mmm...  In the car or other, random rooms of the house.  Body paint, positions that I don't even think a contortionist would have been able to pull off, toys...” Wrinkling his nose at the memory, Will once again drops his gaze and hugs his knees even more tightly to his chest.  “The only thing I gave a point blank refusal to was being tied up, because... uh... I don't know about you, but the thought of being bound and... defenceless... always reminds me of being held captive and I... I just can't go through with it, not voluntarily, and not for fun.”

“Ditto,” I murmur, knowing full well what he's getting at because I feel exactly the same way.  To be bound and at the mercy of even someone you love and trust is just... too similar... to what we've all experienced at one time or another out in the field and...  Basically, there are some feelings and memories that just have no place in either the bedroom or your private life.  “Don't worry, Will, as it's not something I'd ever agree to either, you have my word that it's a request you'll never hear passing my lips.”

“It's just not... right, is it,” Will mumbles, possibly more to himself than for my benefit, as he turns his head away from me and gazes at the far wall. “Byers though, he... he took the no ropes or cuffs thing well enough and decided instead that he'd like to try out a club, and... not wanting to appear too... boring... I agreed to it so long as it was just a... normal... club and not one into S&M.  And...  You know what?  It was... tolerable.  We went into the back room and, so long as I concentrated on Byers and didn't think of the other men watching us, it was nothing of any particular interest.  A little sordid and uncomfortable, but still... safe.”

Launching into a rant about Byers keeping his sexual peccadilloes to himself or finding a more openly willing and eager partner not going to really achieve anything because, as Will's already said, he had his own reasons for choosing to go along with it, I don't reply and just wait for him to go on.

“Now...  After Croatia,” he continues in a hoarse whisper, “I was feeling both... down and... pretty damn awful. I felt as though I had the blood of your wife on my hands, my men were pissed at me because they thought I'd let them down, and I...  Look, I wanted comforting, okay? Hell, what I really wanted was someone to say that things would be okay, but... Knowing that I wouldn't get that I decided that I'd take anything so long as it meant I was able to momentarily forget about how badly I'd fucked up and what an... useless... agent I was.  So... Thinking that sex would be better than nothing, I went to Byers, and, although it wasn't really what I wanted, accepted his invite to return to the club.”

“Will...”  Oh God. Just call it my own internal version of a crystal ball, but I suddenly feel as though I know where this is going, and...

It's a good job Byers isn't around or I'd probably kill the bastard.

“It was... different... from the very beginning,” he murmurs as his breath catches in his throat and a whimper of pain makes it past his lips.  “The room was bigger and better lit, he had me fully strip off while all he did was unzip his fly, and he... he fucked me.  He fucked me in front of an audience before...”  Whimpering again, he rests his forehead on his knees and looks for all the world as though he wants to fold in on himself.  “When he'd finished he... he told me that as I couldn't even do my job properly, that that, being fucked, was all I was good for, and... that as I was otherwise next to useless he never wanted to see me again.  He...  He then just left me there...”

Bastard!  Absolute mother fucking bastard!  Will was already hurting and more in need of an arm around his shoulders than... a cock up his ass, and Byers did... that... to him...  It just defies both common decency and logic.  To leave anyone in the middle of a sex club highlights a questionable set of morals, but to do it to someone who was already in a vulnerable position and who just wanted a friend, that... That just sickens as much as it appals me.

“Will...”  If I didn't think it would be just about the last thing he'd currently want, I'd get off the bed and put my arms around Will now.  I know though that right at this moment isn't the time, that, having started down this path of telling his tale, he has to get through to the end of it in both his own time and on his own terms.  And that's... on his own and without me breathing literally down his neck.

The second  I think he's finished though, I'm so there and, unless he shoves me away or gives any indication of being against the idea, that's just going to be all there is to it.

“I...  Needless to say I was just so shocked that... that I didn't know what to do,” Will murmurs in a soft, faltering voice that quite literally pierces me to the core.  “I was naked, in a room full of strangers, and... to say I felt worthless doesn't even start to cover it.  While I'd never loved Byers, I'd still taken him to be my friend and... for him to have done that to me, it... It just reiterated everything to me. I... was... useless.  Couldn't do my job, couldn't read people correctly, couldn't even find the strength to get myself out of the situation I'd found myself in.  So...  Still down on all fours on the floor, I just stayed there... frozen to the spot and wishing like crazy I could just disappear into thin air.  The men though... while some left the second the show was over, some came over to me and... told me that Byers was an asshole and that I deserved to be treated better.  They also offered to help me in any way that they could and one even said he'd give me a lift home.  I...”

Sitting up just that little bit straighter, Will, his expression unreadable, glances at me and gives a small shrug.  “Before I go on, Ethan, you've got to remember that these clubs are... what they are,” he states.  “The men who go to them go for one reason and that's sex.  They cater to a certain need and to cast yourself in the role of... self-righteously indignant... in relation to their existence isn't right.  They also operate under their own fairly strict set of unwritten rules.  If you're there then it's accepted that you want to be.  They're not about... force, or coercion, or making anyone feel like a freak and are just about consensual, although anonymous, sex.  No one ever... forced... me to do anything and I never felt threatened or as though I was in danger of losing control.  They...”

“They just made you feel... wanted?” I offer quietly.  I get it.  That is, I sort of get it, I do, but...  To be that... damaged... to only feel worthwhile while catering to the sexual needs of strangers?

“More... useful,” Will corrects as he interlocks his fingers around his shins and once again returns his forehead to his knees.  “That night, after Byers left me, one thing... as you've probably already gathered... led to another with the remaining men and, when it was over, I realised that I'd not only been able to forget about everything else while it was happening, but that they'd also... praised... me.  I... I know it sounds pathetic, but to be complimented for... anything... was just such a nice change that I clung to it.  Byers, he was right in that there was... something... I was good at, and that was providing pleasure to others.  Again, it's pathetic, and I don't really expect you to understand, but it left me feeling... better... than I had in days.”

“And...  You've been continuing to seek that feeling out,” I whisper, tilting my head back so I can hide the tears I can suddenly feel threatening to well in my eyes by gazing up at the ceiling.  Byers...  Honestly, the next time I see the fucker I'm really going to let him have it.

“Yes...”

“Whenever you feel down or like you feel as though you're to blame for something, you seek... absolution... by offering your body to strangers...”

“Not absolution.  It's not about... absolving myself or craving pain, because, you've got to believe me, it doesn't hurt and has always just been about straight forward sex.  I... give the men something they want and, in turn, they give me something I... uh... feel that I need.”

“So...  It's just about being able to momentarily forget...”

“And to do something that others think I'm good at and... as they get something out of it, will... praise me for.”

“Yet...  Unless I'm mistaken, which incidentally I really hope that I am, you don't... enjoy it...”

“It's... not about me...”

“That would be a no, then?”

“Sometimes there's a... uh... physical reaction, but on a whole, no.  I... get what I want by being able to switch off for an hour or however long it takes and the brief... fix... of being thanked and complimented.  That...  That's all I do it for.”

“Oh God, Will...” Throwing back the bedding, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and rub my hands over my face as I only just manage to control the urge to either groan or whimper.  “You...  You're better than that and I want you to know that I'll do whatever I can to get that through to you.  The men in that club were right and Byers is an asshole.  What he did to you was just plain cruel and, listen to me, you're not useless.  I wouldn't have you on my team if I didn't think you were one of the best agents there is and... if you take nothing else out of tonight, that's what I want you to remember. You're an excellent agent and you're far from worthless.” Pausing, I stand up and, as I walk over to Will, make a quick bid to lighten the moment by adding, “Your hobbies, mind you, leave a little to be desired and I think it may well be time for you pick a new one.”

“Like what?” Will mutters, giving me a wary look as I crouch down in the front of the armchair.  “Self-flaggelation?  If you can tell me where I can pick up a whip I'd certainly consider it.”

“I was actually thinking more along the lines of reading or... taking up jigsaws myself,” I reply, closing my hands lightly around his ankles and gently pulling his feet off the armchair.  “Come on, Will,” I continue, standing back up again and, placing my hands carefully under his arms, starting to lift him to his feet.  To my relief he follows my prompts without hesitation and, once he's standing, slumps forward into my waiting arms which I immediately wrap around his back in order to keep him firmly in place.  “Again, listen to me... It's okay.  You're... okay.  Everything you've just said to me makes sense, I wish that it didn't, but... it does, it really does, but... It's not right and it stops now.  Not because I said so or because you feel as though you have to do what I say, but because you're better than that and shouldn't need to be... used... to feel worthwhile.”

Sliding his arms around my back, Will rests his head on my shoulder and sighs.  “That's easy for you to say.”

“Tonight though...  How do you feel about tonight?”

“Embarrassed. Ashamed.”

Well, damn.  Seeing as I'd been hoping for him to say 'good', that didn't work then, did it...

“Why?  Come on, Will... Why would that be?  Have I done anything to make you feel that way, because, if I have that wasn't my intention at all and I apologise.”

“No.  Not you.  I'm ashamed that you now know how pathetic I am and that this... this feeling of hope... mightn't last as you'll come to your senses and see me for what I really am...”

“I already know you for what you really are, Will,” I murmur, using my palm to rub circles into  his back as I kiss the top of his head, “and that's... special.  A little messed up, yeah, but still special and someone I very much want to have in my life.  So...  Come on.  Cheer up, subscribe to that... this is the first day of the rest of your life... school of thought, and... come back to bed with me so we can get some sleep.”

“For someone whose been through the things you have, you're still quite alarmingly... optimistic, aren't you?” Will mumbles, tilting his head back so that he can flash me a wan smile that doesn't quite meet the obvious look of hope in his eyes.  “But...  Okay.  While I'm not guaranteeing that I've... seen the light and am now cured of my pathetically needy ways, I... If you're really alright with it, I... I would like to come back to bed with you.”

Breaking the embrace only to place my arm around Will's shoulder in order to guide him around to his side of the mattress, I kiss his cheek and, with a smile, murmur, “Trust me, I'm... more... than okay with it.  Oh...  And, Will?  It's not a guarantee I'm after from you, it's a promise that you'll... try your hardest to move forward.  You don't have to pander to me, and can tell me to fuck off whenever you want, but I just always want you to know that I'm here for you and that you're... special.”

“I...”  Moving to stand directly in front of me, Will cups his hands around my cheeks and, gazing into my eyes, nods.  “I'll try...  For you, I'll promise to try...”

~*~*~*~

“Thought you were meant to be having a day off.”

Coming to a reluctant stop at the sound of the familiar voice behind me, I plaster on a – 'happy to see you!' – smile and turn to face Luther as a never ending stream of expletives run through my head at having been... well... 'sprung'.  “You're right,” I respond, still smiling my decidedly blank smile as my friend comes to a stop next to me.  “This is my day off.”

“And... You decided to spend it lurking around the corridors of HQ?” Luther drawls, giving me a suspicious look.  “Oh, and by the way...  Not having come down in the last shower, you can stop with the fake and downright creepy smile as... just call it my super sensitive intuition... it's pretty damn obvious you ain't too pleased to see me.”

“I...”  Sighing, I dim the wattage of my smile and shrug.  “Sorry.  Don't take it personally, but it's just that I was kind of hoping to be only seen by the person I've come to... uh... give my regards to.”

Snorting, Luther raises an eyebrow and gives me an appraising look.  “Like that, huh?”

“You have no idea,” I mutter, looking Luther in the eye and giving a quick – 'seriously, don't go there' – shake of my head.  “I just want to find him and... share my grievances... with him, and then I'm out of here.”

“Share your grievances, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“What's the bastard done to you?”

“To me personally? Nothing.”

Not looking at all put out by my obtuseness, Luther shrugs and, as a smirk tugs on his lips, gives me another appraising look.  “Can I ask who it is you're looking for?”

“You can, but I'm not going to tell you.”

“How can I help you find him then if you're not going to tell me who he is?”

“What makes you think I need help finding him?”

“The fact you're aimlessly creeping around the corridors, for starters,” Luther retorts somewhat matter-of-factly as he gives my shoulder a friendly slap.  “Come on, Ethan.  Tell me who he is and I bet you a twenty that I'll know where you can find him.”

“Fine.”  While I'm not going to tell him in as many words, Luther's right and to my extreme annoyance I don't know where Byers is and have been prowling around HQ for the last thirty minutes searching for him.  My idea of both finding Byers and letting him know just how little I happen to think of him is, at best, half baked and, at worse, incredibly fucking foolish, but I honestly feel as though I just have to do.  I still don't know what I'm either going to say or do to him when I finally encounter him but, for my own peace of mind if nothing else, I've got to do something.  What he did to Will is one of the lowest acts anyone could do to another person and although there's nothing I can do to him that will even begin to come close to what he put Will through, I still feel as though he can't simply be allowed to get away with it.  I know of quite a few things I'd like, but can't in all good conscience, to do to him and only hope that I remember this once we finally meet.

Will doesn't know that I'm here or that I'm planning to stick my nose in yet again where it's most likely not wanted, but, again, solely for my own reasons I have to do it as I simply can't get it out of my mind.  I think of what Byers did to him and I just see red.  Even if he never intended for the consequences to be both so far reaching and damaging, to even do it to Will in the first place was just so hideously wrong.  If he was arrogant enough to no longer want anything to do with him after his perceived failure in Croatia he could have just slammed the door in his face and seen him off that way.  God knows he didn't have to... fuck him... and then just leave him in that club.  That, as I said to Will in that hotel room the night before last, was just plain cruel.  Quite inhuman, even.

So...  Although I might not know what I'm going to do or how I'm even going to react, I just have to see Byers before I can shove his repulsive presence out of my mind once and for all and return to concentrating on Will.

“Fine?” Luther echoes, retrieving a twenty from his wallet and waving it in my face. “Now that I've shown you I'm good for the money, tell me his damn name already.”

“Byers,” I scowl, pulling a twenty out of my pocket and following Luther's lead by waving it in his face.  “If you happen to know where that douche bag, Jason Byers is, you'll not only get this twenty but also my utmost gratitude as well.”

“Thanks, but I'll settle for the bank note,” Luther replies, snatching the money out of my hand with a triumphant grin.  “The mother fucker you're looking for, seeing as it's just gone quarter to ten, will be walking out of the men's room on the third floor in five or so minutes time.”

“And you know this... because?”  Okay.  While, yes, finding Byers location was definitely money well spent, part of me still can't help but want to know just why exactly it is Luther seems so... knowledgeable on the man's toileting habits.

“Because the creep is as regular as clockwork,” he mutters, pulling an unimpressed face as he places my twenty back with his in his wallet.  “That, and everyone else on the floor knows to avoid the bathroom around that time 'cos no one wants to get stuck in there with him in case he might try to talk to them.”

“So, popular as ever, then?”

“Oh yeah.  Award winning personality.  A real charmer.  What's not to like, really?”

“Yeah, well...  Don't get me started.”  Scowling again, I pat Luther on the arm and start to walk off.  “Thanks for the info though, Luther, and... I'll be seeing you.”

“You're not going to tell me just what it is you want with the bastard?” he queries, trying one last time to get me to sate his curiosity.

“All in the name of plausible denial, no, I'm not,” I retort as, without looking over my shoulder, I shake my head and, leaving Luther in my wake, stride off down the corridor.

Pleased that I've now got both a set location and timeframe to strive for, I eschew the elevator in favour of jogging up the stairs and, going by the time on my watch, make it to the men's room on the third floor with a minute or two to spare.  I then, without giving myself time to fall prey to doubt, draw myself up to my full height, shove open the door and, with perfect timing, stalk inside just as Byers exits a cubical and walks over to the basins to wash his hands.  Glancing in the mirror above the basins to see just who it is who has joined him, he gives a disinterested shrug of recognition and, with a quick pump of soap onto his hands, turns on the water.

“Hunt.”

“Byers.”

Great.  Just fantastic. Now that he's before me I don't even know what to do.  It's like... Fuck.  It's  like the mere sight of the bastard has rendered me both immediately speechless and perfectly incapable of action.

“Hey,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder and giving me what well may be a sympathetic look.  “Is it true that you've been lumped with that flaky, waste of space, Brandt, on your team?  If that's the case, seriously, you have my condolences as, take my word on it, there's just something not entirely right about that man.  Not... right in the head, if you know what I mean...”

And... 

There you go.

That'll do it.

By Byers opening his stupid fucking mouth and insulting Will in front of me, he's essentially given me an open invitation to shut it for him, and...

You know what?

That'll do.

It really will.

Smiling with deceptive sweetness, I sidle up to Byers and, with no hint of warning whatsoever, grab the back of his suit jacket and haul him a step or two back from the basin.  “You're right,” I murmur, acid all but dripping literally off my tongue as, too convinced of his own superiority, Byers doesn't even struggle and just glowers at me in the mirror.  “William Brandt is on my team and... as the only lapse of reason I've ever known him to have is having anything to do with your useless ass... that just happens to be something I'm incredibly proud of.”  My piece said, I slam Byers forward with such force that he comes down jaw first on the hard porcelain of the basin and, as blood starts to pour out of his mouth from where his teeth went through his lip, calmly begin to walk out of the bathroom.  “Oh... And should I ever become aware that you've so much as mentioned Will's name again, I'll be back to finish what I just started.”

“Fuck you!  You crazy fucking bastard!  I'm going to...”

Far more amused by Byers futile ranting than I am threatened by it, I further add to his... bad experience... by laughing and giving him a quick wave before slipping out of the door and, with something of a spring in my step, being on my way.  It might not have been classy, and it certainly wasn't pretty, but, again, it'll do.  Byers kindly proved my opinion of him by mouthing off about Will and... I got to retaliate by both threatening him and indulging in a spot of gratuitous violence.  And, it's wrong of me, I know that, but, yes...  I did enjoy it.

And, what's more, I also have a completely clear conscience in regards to my actions.

Satisfied that I've already achieved my first goal of the day, I leave HQ without being stopped by any of my other acquaintances and, hoping that my second aim for the day has the same degree of success, get in my car and make my way around to Will's.  Granted, there's a fairly good chance he'll jump immediately to the conclusion that I'm just checking up on him because an entire eighteen hours have passed since I last saw him after we'd finished debriefing at HQ yesterday, but just wanting to see him even if he doesn't want to see me, it's a risk I happen to be prepared to take.  I don't have to stay very long, and I'll take his annoyance with good grace if that's what he wants to hit me with, but, again, I simply want to see him because I want to know if he's still okay.  He seemed to be yesterday, both when he woke up in my bed and then during the flight home and the debriefing, but as this is Will we're talking about here, it's hard to know for sure whether it was real or whether it was just an act because he knew it's what I would have been wanting to see.

It was still a start, though.  A start that I now just want to check up on.

Reaching Will's house after about twenty-five minutes on the road, I bring the car to a stop in his driveway and, oddly enough, with far more doubt niggling at me than when I marched in to confront Byers, make my way up to his front door and ring the bell.  It's barely finished ringing out through the house before the door is wrenched open and, with a smile that he's too slow to disguise crossing his face, Will's standing before me.  Dressed casually in jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, and with his feet bare and his hair still damp from the shower, he looks so unbelievably good that, regardless of how he reacts to my appearance on his doorstep, I have to say that for purely aesthetic reasons alone I'm already pleased that I made the effort to call in on him.

“Ethan.”  His smile slipping slightly, Will frowns and gestures me inside.  “If you're checking up on me,” he adds just a touch defensively, “then you're too early as the clubs don't open for another twelve or so hours.”

“I'm not checking up on you,” I reply with an easy smile as, just as Luther did earlier, he looks at me suspiciously.  “Seeing as we've got the day off I just thought I'd come around and see if you had any plans.”

“And...  You've never heard of picking up the phone?” Will queries with a quick roll of his eyes as, already looking more relaxed than he did a second ago, he goes back to smiling at me.  “Seeing as you're here though, yes, I do... sort of... have plans for the day.”

“Oh,” I mutter, mentally berating myself for sounding – not to mention, being – so disappointed when, really, I should be happy for him that he's got something to do and isn't just going to waste the day mooching around in the house.  “Uh...  What I mean...”

“Taking your idea of needing a new... hobby... to heart,” Will murmurs, taking pity on me and cutting me off, “I thought that I might go in to Kramerbooks and see if I can return to my old love of reading by picking up some books.”

“Kramerbooks,” I repeat, racking my brain to try to remember what I know about the bookshop.  “They have a café, don't they?”

Will nods.  “They do.”

“Then...  If I offered to buy you a coffee, would you like company?”

“I...”  His frown returning, Will sighs and gives me a funny look.  “Ethan, I...  I like you, I like you a lot, and I... appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but... I don't want to be your hobby... and I don't want you to think that you have to look in on me all the time. So...”

Accepting that I clumsily walked into that one, I place my hand on Will's arm and give it a gentle squeeze.  “What if I said that I... hear what you're saying and then not only tell you that I certainly don't think of you as a hobby and that... as my friend, I'd simply like to take you out for a coffee?  But...  As is always going to be the case, the choice is yours and I'll leave if that's what you want me to do.”

“Just... coffee?” Will murmurs, surprising me by placing his hand over mine and pressing down on it.  “As in... a date?”

Liking where he seems to be going with this, I grin and, turning my hand over under his, entwine our fingers together.  “If that's what you'd like it to be, then...  Yes.  Of course it can be a date.  A... first date, even...”

“You know... I'd like that,” Will replies with a gloriously genuine smile as he gives my fingers a squeeze before dropping my hand and pulling his arm away. “I... I'd like that a lot, actually.”

~*~*~*~

“Whatever it is you've been doing for Will this past month,” Jane comments as, once she's satisfied Will's safely ensconced in the bathroom and out of earshot, she leans forward from her seat on the armchair and fixes me with a – vaguely smug –  knowing look, “keep it up.”

Looking up from the mission report on the screen of the laptop in front of me on the coffee table, I glace across at Jane and try to dazzle her with my very best interpretation of an expression of – 'I have no idea what you're talking about' – innocence.  “Pardon?” I murmur with bland, if not red rag to a bull, politeness.  “What a... peculiar... thing to say.  I haven't been... doing... anything to Will.”

“You can drop the coy act, Ethan, because I'm not buying it,” Jane retorts, grinning as her expression changes to one of amusement.  “Will, this past month or so he's been... different... somehow.  Hell, I'd even be prepared to go out on a limb and, although it's not like I've ever had anything to compare it with and could actually be wrong, say he's been borderline... happy.”

“Less skittish,” Benji pipes up as, looking pleased with himself for having something to add to the conversation, he peers at me over the screen of his laptop and beams triumphantly.  “He's definitely less skittish, that's for sure.”

“Skittish?” I repeat, rolling my eyes as – hoping they both get the hint here and let the subject drop – I pick the computer up and place it on my lap. “You're making him sound like a horse.  A... temperamental one, at that. ”

“Jane knows what I mean,” Benji replies with a pout as he looks over at Jane for support.  “He's been hanging around with us more and not just... disappearing... for reasons known only to himself, and... uh... we were thinking...”

“Oh.  We... were, were we?” I mutter, raising my eyebrow and giving first Benji and then Jane a disapproving look as it becomes abundantly clear to me that this is a topic they've been over themselves probably more times than I'd really care to know about.  “If you've got time for idle chit-chat, perhaps I should...”

“And again I say... drop the coy act, Ethan,” Jane drawls with both a laugh and a shrug as she blithely cuts me off.  “Whatever it is you're doing... for... Will, or... to... him, or, hey, while I'm at it, even if you're just... doing... him, it's clearly working and we, yes, that's Benji and I, think you need to keep at it as he definitely seems more content these days, and...”  Pausing, she looks over at me and waits until I'm gazing back at her before giving another shrug and smiling.  “Look, we're not angling for details or anything like that and simply think it's a good thing, okay.  Will's happier, you're happier, hell, we're all happier and... for whatever the reason may happen to be, long may it continue.”

“Here, here,” Benji interjects, giving me one of his patented nervous looks, as though he honestly thinks I'm pissed off at knowing that he and Jane have been – bravely – discussing the... variable moods... of their team mates and I'm going to chew him a new one for it, over his computer. “We don't care what you're doing to him... uh... that is if you're even doing anything, and... uh... if you are then that's nothing to do with us anyway, and...”

“Enough!” I protest, laughing as I hold my hand up in a 'stop' gesture.  “I get it. You've noticed that Will's recently changed for the better and you're pleased for him.  Now... Please.  Just move on already.”

Muttering, “No fun,” under her breath, Jane gets up from the armchair and, no doubt wanting to see what movie Benji's faffing around downloading on his computer, goes to sit next to him on the room's second sofa.

Satisfied, even though I know full well that it'll be only momentary as the next time they find themselves alone together they'll be back on the subject of trying to work out just what it is that's going on between Will and myself, that Jane and Benji are otherwise occupied for the time being, I return my attention to quickly proof reading Will's report before signing off on it and emailing it to the Secretary.  As missions go the one that came to a more or less successful end earlier this evening was basically neither here nor there.  We retrieved what we'd set out to retrieve and the only unforeseen fuck up was an innocent bystander catching a stray bullet during the gunfight with the firm's security on our way out of the building. Although no doubt a little shell shocked by having been shot while simply going about her – official – business on one of the firm's clerical floors, the woman wasn't seriously wounded and is already in a stable condition in hospital, but...  There's no escaping the fact she shouldn't have been caught in the crossfire in the first place and it was still a – minor, in my books – black mark against both the day and the mission.

I suspect too, that a month ago it would have been enough of a... perceived failure... to send Will out to a club.  It wouldn't have mattered that it wasn't his bullet that struck the woman as simply having been there when it happened, when it... shouldn't... have happened, would have done it. It would have made him doubt his own ability and, in turn, it would have then made him want to seek out his 'go to' method of both forgetting and feeling, however fleetingly, useful.  It's how it's always been in the past.  Cause and effect.  Something goes wrong during a mission and Will, unable to fight off the self-doubt, succumbs to the only way he knows how to combat it.

This time a month ago, as we returned to the motel suite over an hour ago, he'd already be on his knees in a club.  He would have come back with us, changed his clothes, and then, the noise in his head being so loud and his need to quieten it being so great, he would have been gone.  He certainly wouldn't have sat with us in the living area and volunteered to write the report and nor would he have given Benji his tentative acceptance of seeing the evening out by watching a movie with us.

I'm not saying the woman having been wounded wouldn't still be getting to him in some way, but...

He's still here.

The day went slightly pear shaped and Will is still here.

Maybe he wouldn't be if the woman had been killed as opposed to merely shot in the leg, but she wasn't, and he is.

He's still here, and that alone makes the hardly onerous effort I've put into trying to get him to this point more than worthwhile.

For tonight at least, all of the worry, and the... holding back... for fear of pushing Will too far too quickly, my own sense of doubt that he was still firmly convinced that he was really only good for one thing and was just humouring my attempts to get through to him because he thought it was easier than fighting me, can be brushed aside.  None of it matters and I can concentrate solely on all of the – considerable – positives of the past month instead.  The couple of almost old fashioned 'dinner' dates we managed to sneak in between missions, the love-making in the tiny little motel in Tokyo because we'd found ourselves alone and it was raining so hard that we didn't want to leave the room, the way Will has, as Benji mentioned, been spending more time in our company as opposed to just hiding out in his room or disappearing...

They might only be small steps, and I'm not delusional enough to think he's 'cured' or that I'm even  the one responsible for how far he's come, but...

I'll take it.

He's working, and working hard, on pulling himself together and, the others are right, he seems more content for it.

And, again, I'll take it.

Seeing as just about anything would have to be an improvement on the miserable place he'd trapped himself in, the fact that he's already come this far in such a reasonably short period of time is nothing short of a miracle.

“Uh...  Ethan,” Benji murmurs, the sound of his voice bringing me back to the here and now and causing me to both return the laptop to the coffee-table and glance over at him.  “Maybe you already know this, but...”

“Will's just gone into your room for some reason,” Jane finishes as, copying my earlier move, she affects an innocent impression that, it just has to be said, probably would be a whole lot more effective if she wasn't smirking at the same time.  “Now, unless he hit his head without any of us noticing today and is suddenly feeling so far off his game that he's mistaking your room for his, maybe you might, I don't know, want to go and check to see if he knows what he's doing.”

“Alternatively, seeing as you're the one experiencing the curiosity here, maybe you might want to be the one to go and ask him just what it is he's doing in my room,” I retort, glancing over my shoulder and noting that, as the door to my room is now closed, they seem to be right and that Will must have managed to slip in there without me having noticed he'd even left the bathroom.

“Don't tempt me,” Jane replies, making shooing gestures towards the bedroom as she looks pointedly towards the door.  “Go on.  I'm sure he's in there for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Standing up, I give Jane a mock salute and, more curious than I have any intention of letting on to my audience as to why Will's decided to disappear into my room, walk over to the door and push it open. Experience having taught me that Will has it in him to be as unpredictable as he can be predictable, I half expect to find him – having snapped and reverted to form – lying, both in wait and naked, on the bed for me.  I wouldn't, in other words, put it past him at all and am actually relieved when, walking into the room, I discover him standing by the window. 

Fresh from the shower and – fully clothed – dressed in jeans and a loose, long sleeved blue shirt, he leans his back against the wall and, with a nod of greeting, flashes me a half smile.  “”You seemed so engrossed in the report that I didn't know if you'd even seen me,” he states, watching me closely as, not really knowing what to do with myself, I take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“At the risk of hanging a huge question mark over my observation skills,” I reply, stretching my legs out in front of me as I rest my palms flat on the mattress, “I have to be honest here and say that I... didn't... see you and am only here because the Surveillance Twins took it upon themselves to tell me in no uncertain terms that you'd lost your bearings and had wandered in to my room for some unknown reason.”

“Surveillance Twins, huh?” Will mutters, his smile broadening.  “Well...  At least someone was paying attention then.”

“Sorry.  If you'd been wanting to be stealthy then...

“While I'd hoped you might have noticed yourself, I wasn't trying to be stealthy,” Will interrupts, his smile slipping slightly as he gives a small shrug and tilts his head back until it's resting against the wall.  “Seeing that you seemed miles away though, the report...  Was it okay?  I know I knocked it up fairly quickly, but...”

“The report was not only fine but it's also already in the Secretary's in-box, so... Stop looking so worried.  Your report writing skills haven't failed you and, if you must know, I was just sitting there... staring at nothing in particular because... uh... I could.”

“Oh.”  Not looking as though he believes me, Will gives me a funny look.  “I...  I'm glad the report was okay.”

“Of course it was okay,” I reply as, suddenly a little worried as to where this might be going, I sit up straighter and, looking across at Will, try to catch his eyes.  “Will?  But what about you?  Are... you... okay?”

“I'm fine,” Will responds with a notable lack of conviction as, sighing, he walks over to the bed and takes a seat a small distance away from me.  “I just...  I suppose I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions in private, that's all.”

If that's... all, why am I now even more concerned than I was a moment ago?

“If that's the case, ask away,” I declare, giving an airy shrug as – if in doubt, fake it – I grin my doubt away. “If it helps, I can almost guarantee that the answer will be yes.”

Frowning, Will turns to face me but, instead of meeting my gaze, drops his head and looks down in the general direction of my waist instead.  “So... If I were to ask you to leave here and come to a club with me, you... would?” he queries flatly.

“I...”  Damn. Where'd... that... come from?  “If... you'd been sitting there challenging yourself to find the one thing I'd... knock you back on,” I murmur, choking back a sigh, “then...  Congratulations.  You win. And... the reason you win is because the answer is... no.  No.  I won't come to a club with you.”

Clearly taken aback by my response, Will folds his hands in his lap and, apparently satisfied that he's given himself something new to look at, gazes down at them. “Oh.”

“Sorry, Will,” I reply quietly as, taking in the sight of his slumped shoulders, it takes all my willpower not to simply drape my arm around them and hug him to me.  “I just... can't.  If you want to go though, if that's what you really feel that you need to do, then...  I won't stop you. Nor will I...  judge you, or lose any of the respect I have for you and... the only sense of disappointment I'll have is that you're still capable of feeling this way and that I... haven't been able to do enough for you.”  Pausing, I give a little way in to temptation and place my hand lightly on Will's knee.  “The main reason I'm not able to go with you though is because I'm... only human and I can't bear the thought of watching anyone touch you.  Once...  Once was enough and, I... I just can't do it again.”

“Again?” Will murmurs as, half turning his head, he gives me a questioning look.

It being my turn to look away, I glance down at my feet and, because I have to, mumble, “London.  What I saw in London, it was bad enough when I thought it was what you... wanted, but...  Now that I know... why, why it was you put yourself in situations like that, I can't... I couldn't just stand there idly and leave you to it.”

“Oh.”  Proving that I suspect he'll always have the ability to surprise me, Will places his hand over mine and presses down on it.  “London was... deliberate. I... wanted you to know that... uh... I knew you knew,” he states. “That's why I both paid for your entry and why... I went as far as I did.  I thought that if you saw me how... I saw myself... you'd come to your senses, back off and just leave me to it.  It...  It was a performance.”

“Mmm... And some performance it was, too,” I mutter, shifting closer to Will and, all the time keeping my hand under his, gently bumping him with my shoulder.  “But...  Not really wanting to think back to that time at all, and, please, you can be honest with me here, is going out to a club tonight what you... really... want?  If it is, again, I won't try to stop you, but...”

“I don't want to go to a club,” Will states to my great relief as, following my lead, he moves closer and leans against me.  “I'm not going to lie and say that I haven't thought about it or that the... itch... isn't there, because...  I have and, to a small extent, it is.  That woman should never have got shot and, yeah, a month ago it would have been enough to... set me off.  Like... an ex-smoker who finds himself craving a cigarette after a particular meal, maybe it, the itch, the... need to be numb, will always be there, but...  No.  I don't want to be anywhere other than here and just raised it because... I know it would have crossed your mind to and, okay, I wanted to know what your response would be...”

Giving in, as I always knew I would, to the urge to put my arm around Will's shoulders, I hug him to me and, with a roll of my eyes, shake my head.  “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that this is where you want to be,” I murmur, “and, again, I want you to always know that you can ask me anything and that I really am here for you.  I can't, even though I wish that I could, wave a magic wand and undo all the damage that bastard, Byers, did to you, but what I can do is both be here for you and give you my word to always do whatever I can to help...”

“And no-one in their right mind would be able to ask for more,” Will replies, giving my cheek a quick kiss as he gives me a wry, possibly even slightly cunning look.  “Speaking of Byers though...  Did I hear Benji correctly the other day when he told Jane that there was a rumour going around that a few weeks back someone had... attacked... him in one of the bathrooms at HQ?”

“In HQ, you say?” I query, widening my eyes in feigned shock.  “With security like ours, how could something like that even happen?”

“Well, that's what I wondered too,” Will responds as, smirking, he glances at me. “Assuming Benji was right in what he was saying, it seems as though his attacker slammed him into the edge of a basin with such force that he needed stitches in his lip.  That, and apparently the dental work to fix his teeth is going to take months.”

“Really?  That's... awful.”

“Awful, huh?”

“Well.  Okay.  So maybe it couldn't have happened to a more deserving prick, but... I'm still shocked.”

“Mmm...  You look it, too,” Will retorts as, his expression turning serious, he gives a slow shake of his head.  “You didn't have to...”

“Who said I did anything?” I interject, not bothered by the fact Will obviously knows it was me who took it upon himself to highlight to Byers the error of his ways but, at the same time, hoping like mad that... he's... not bothered by it.  “I'm sure an asshole like Byers has made plenty of enemies during his time slithering around the planet and that he... just got what was coming to him.”

“Maybe I just wish I'd been there to see it or... or that I hadn't simply... taken... what he did to me... and, no, I'm not trying to be funny here... lying down and had actually done it myself,” Will replies with a smile that, thankfully, reaches his eyes as, his expression brightening, he gently digs his elbow into my ribs.  “Now...  Moving on to why I came in here in the first place and the two questions I was wanting to ask you, yeah?”

Only too happy to move things along, I nod and arch my brow in silent question.  “So long as it's got nothing to do with either of two of my least favourite topics, clubs and Byers, go for it.”

“Not wanting to talk about those things any more than you do, trust me, you're safe,” Will murmurs, planting another soft kiss on my cheek as he shifts out from under my arm and stands up.  “The first question is... Whether you'd be okay with the fact I'd... quite like to spend the night in here with you...”

“That, William, is a question that never needs asking as the answer, of course, will always be... yes,” I reply, looking up at Will and grinning.  “Of course I'm okay with the idea of you spending the night with me.”

“Even if it's solely for the purpose of... sleeping?” Will queries dubiously.  “Having had to put up with the sound of Benji snoring last night, I know the walls are thin and I don't want...”

“Just sleeping is more than fine,” I interrupt, still grinning as, it just has to be said, the offer of sex not being on the table doesn't alter the simple pleasure I'm feeling at Will wanting to simply spend the night with me at all.  “Seriously...  I'd like that a lot.”

“You're... sure?”

“Both sure and looking forward to it.  Now...  What's your next question?”

“My second, and final, question is...”  Trailing off, Will bites down on his bottom lip and glances towards the window.  “Ethan...  The others, Jane and Benji, are you... okay... with them... knowing...”

“About... us?” I prompt as, the weird and wonderful way Will's mind operates surprising me yet again, I stand up and, simply wanting to be closer to him,  position myself in front him and place my hand on his arm. “Is that what you're wanting to know?  Whether I'm wanting to hide the fact that I'm mad about you from our friends?”

Nodding, Will dredges up a cautious smile and, with an obvious degree of effort, looks me directly in the eye.  “Something like that,” he whispers.  “I... wasn't bothered by Jane and Benji seeing me walk into your room because... so long as it's okay with you, of course... I... I don't want to sneak around and would far prefer to just be able to act... naturally... around you.  This, even though I know it's pathetic, is hard enough for me as it is without having to hide it from those I trust and... care about...”

“Ignoring the fact the Surveillance Twins would work it out for themselves in due course anyway,” I reply, giving his arm a quick squeeze before taking his hand in mine and beginning to walk towards the door, “I have no problem whatsoever with them knowing about... this.”  Tightening my hand around Will's, I come to a stop by the door and stroke my free hand gently down the side of his face as, looking increasingly agitated, he looks at me through wide, worried eyes.   “I'm not... ashamed... of you, Will, and... as I want to do whatever it takes to make this work, if this is what you want, what you truly want and feel as though you'd be comfortable with, I can think of nothing I'd currently like more than walking out of this room holding your hand. What's more, if you'd like to really hammer it home, I'd also have no qualms about sitting on the sofa with you and pretending as though we're in the back row of the cinema during the movie.”

 

“As though we're in the back row,” Will repeats as, not looking at all reassured by this prospect, he squeezes my hand tightly and clearly hesitates over wanting to follow me out of the room.  “Uh...  You'll probably find this hypocritical of me,” he continues, blushing, “ especially given... well... London, for example, but... I'm just not sure I'd want to go that far or... uh... whether it's...”

“It's... whatever you're comfortable with,” I interrupt, flashing him a soft smile as, finally, it dawns on me that Will, in his own unique way, is probably viewing the concept of – in a sense – 'coming out' to Jane and Benji as a new slant on his constant need to feel... worthy. It's like...  If I truly mean everything I've been saying and trying my best to get through to him, then I... won't have a problem with the others knowing what he means to me.  If, however, I don't want them to know, then... it would have to be because I was ashamed of him and couldn't bear the thought of anyone knowing that, basically, he had anything to do with me.  And then, I suppose, worst of all, there's the lingering doubt that if the only thing I wanted – despite, really, it being little more than an obviously ill advised joke – to do was maul him on the sofa, then that would no doubt have to mean that that was all I thought he was good for.

Just...  Fuck.

William Brandt. Honestly.  He's so messed up that it's just not funny.

Messed up and, whether he'll every truly believe it or not, more than worth every second of the time I'm lucky enough to get to spend with him.

“Come on, Will,” I add encouragingly, “stop looking so... doubtful and cheer up.  I think I've already told you this before, but you're the one in charge here and I'm happy to just go along with whatever you want.”

“What I want?” Will mutters with both a snort and wan smile.  “Not to second guess myself... and you too, for that matter... would be one hell of a start, but...”  Shrugging, he squeezes my hand and places his other hand on the door knob.  “Having given up on a miracles a long time ago, right now I'll take the fact I'm managing to still be here as opposed to... well... the alternative, and think we probably should just go and join the others and watch a movie.”

“Sounds like a good start to me,” I reply, letting Will take the lead in both opening the door and walking through it first before following him out into the living area and glancing over at Benji as, some things just never changing, he glowers impatiently at his laptop.  “Mind you, keep in mind I say that without knowing what's... screening tonight.”

“Seeing as they both should be fully down in a couple of minutes or so,” Benji states, looking up and taking in the fact I've still got Will's hand clutched in mine without so much as a slight widening of his eyes or a raise of an eyebrow, “you've got the choice between either the new Star Trek movie or the new Fast and the Furious.”

Snickering at the, I would very much suspect hardly Oscar award winning movies on offer, I lead Will over to the sofa and, as we both take a seat on it, glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “Pointy ears or fast cars. Talk about about being faced with a possibly life changing decision.”

“Oddly enough I was thinking exactly the same thing,” Will murmurs as he looks over at Benji, who I honestly think is trying to speed up his download by the intensity of his gaze alone, and shaking his head.  “Well, I was thinking that and... Maybe I'm wrong, but I vaguely recall having seen billboards for these movies around the place and would have thought they were still only available to been seen in a cinema.”

“That's only if you don't know where to look for them,” Benji responds, further reiterating his lack of patience by drumming his fingers on the laptop.  “As I, however, know where to find them, you're in luck and won't have to watch them with the great unwashed.”

“Assuming, that is, I'd ever actually... wanted... to watch them,” Will replies in a voice quiet enough to make it clear he's directing his comment far more to me than he is to Benji.  “If they're in the cinema though, isn't this... piracy?”

Settling myself back against the sofa, I stretch my legs out onto the coffee-table and, releasing Will's hand with one last squeeze, drape my arm around his shoulders.  “Oh...  It's definitely piracy.”

“But...”  Well and truly looking as though he's struggling to get it, Will curls his legs up onto the sofa and, all the time keeping a watchful eye on Benji in case he, I don't know, reacts with horror to this... public display of affection, makes himself comfortable against me.  “Aren't we... that is, as IMF agents, aren't we meant to take a stand against piracy?”

“Probably.  But seeing as Digital Theft or whatever the hell it's currently known as falls under the FBI's purview, I kind of have to say I don't really care,” I reply, grinning as I gesture over at Benji.  “Should, however, Benji ever get busted, trust me, he's on his own and they can cart him away in shackles with my compliments.”

“Like I'm ever going to get busted,” Benji mutters dismissively as looks up and, still showing no signs of caring one way or the other that I've got my arm around Will's shoulders, gives me a smug smile.  “Besides, seeing as I've mastered going in through one of their I.P. address, even if they did manage to trace the download they'd be so mortified at it having come through an inside source that they'd just brush it under the carpet anyway.”  Pausing, he places his laptop on the coffee-table and, seemingly perfectly unaware of how close it is to the edge and how it would take next to nothing to knock it to the floor, begins to ferret around the cushions scattered all over the sofa for the remote control.  Finding it under the very last cushion, he holds it aloft with a triumphant grin and uses it to switch on the room's large, wall mounted television set.  “Now...  What will it be, the Enterprise or muscle cars?”

“Surprise us,” Jane announces as, walking back into the room from her bedroom, she makes her way over to the coffee-table and throws a number of chocolate bars down onto it.  “There.  That's my contribution to the snack side of things.  If it's not enough though... then you're on your own.”  Shrugging, she looks as though she's about to head over and take a seat next to Benji when, her expression suddenly brightening, it becomes immediately clear that she's only just noticed how Will and I are sitting. 

“Aw...  Cute,” she murmurs, shifting across to stand in front of us in order to get a closer look.  “That is...  You, Ethan, look like the cat that's just got the cream,” she continues as, not liking how much attention he's getting, Will stiffens next to me and stares down at the coffee-table.  “But, Will...”  Leaning forward, she ruffles his hair and causes him to blush a decidedly dark pink colour. “You're definitely cute.”  Her point made... or her piece said... of just whatever it was she clearly felt compelled to do... done, Jane laughs and, with one more ruffle of poor Will's hair, walks over to Benji and flops down on to the sofa next to him.

Grimacing in either embarrassment or shock, it's hard to tell which, Will looks at me and, under his breath, mumbles, “Cute?”

“Definitely cute, actually,” I reply, rubbing my hand along his upper arm in case, possibly already feeling out of his depth, he's thinking about jumping to his feet and retreating to the sanctuary of the bedroom. “You know something, she's right too.  You are cute.”

“Cute,” he repeats as, to my decided relief, he relaxes against me.  “I don't suppose it needs to be said that I can't even remember when it was that I was last called... cute...”  Trailing off, he gives me a droll look. “Hot, however, that one's been...uh... fairly common.  As is, and, yes, I do happen to count them separately... fucking hot,” he murmurs with self deprecating humour as he counts the... compliments... he's used to hearing off on his fingers.  “Then there's the truly... affirming... declaration of being told I have a tight... uh...  Well, I'm sure you can guess the rest of that one. Oh! And let's not forget the seemingly never ending collection of, I'm assuming, complimentary grunts and, my personal favourite, the perennially popular and never grows tired chorus of... 'fuck yeah'...”  Pausing again, he shrugs and, proving once and for all that he's not only fully aware of his... history... but that he also knows he's got to both own up to it and fight to move on from it, smiles really quite contentedly.  “Cute though, it...  It mightn't be particularly manly, but I'd take... cute... over all of them.”

“Uh...”  Looking quite perturbed at everything he's just heard, Benji frowns and, getting his chosen movie up on the TV screen momentarily forgotten about, shares a worried looking glance with an equally as concerned looking Jane.  “Do we even want to know?”

Still smiling, Will looks over at Benji and shakes his head.  “No.  You don't,” he state, backing up his commitment to... self-aware honesty... by curling his hand warmly around my thigh  “It...  Hopefully it's all in the past though and, all being well, I should be around for more of these... movie nights... in the future.”

“I still don't...”

“And on that note,” I interject, talking all over the top of Benji as I looked pointedly at the television, “how about, seeing as I can hardly cope with the curiosity of not knowing what movie it is you're going to hit us with, we get said movie night going, yeah?”

“You heard the boss,” Jane murmurs, giving Benji a quick jab in the ribs with her elbow as she leans forward and snatches up a Snickers bar from the coffee-table.  “Make your choice and hit play.”

Dutifully doing as he's told, Benji taps a few keys on his laptop and within seconds the instantly recognisable Paramount emblem is appearing on the television screen.  My interest in the movie coming a very poor second to my interest in Will and my hope that he really is comfortable with how everything's going, I look down at him and, wanting nothing more than for him to know it's how I feel, whisper in his ear, “Jane really is right though, you are cute, and... I'm glad that you're here...”

“I...”  Tilting his head up, Will looks me in the eye for a few seconds before, even though he'd have to be as aware as I am that Jane's gazing over at us, softly kissing my cheek.  “As I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be, I'm glad that I'm here too...”

~ end ~


End file.
